A Flawed Design
by thesherlockedwriterof221b
Summary: After two months in rehab, Sherlock comes back to school to find he has a roommate... AU-Teen!Lock. Rated M for mentions of drug use and other stuff. **This contains minimal smut - just so you know.** There is currently a poll going about a possible sequel to this. Please vote! c:
1. Released

**A/N: **Hi everyone! Just before you start reading this, I'd like to mention a few thing.

This contains **minimal** smut, but the little there is (can't even be called smut to be honest) is unlikely to be het. So, if you're homophobic, or prefer not to read this sort of this thing (even though there's minimal smut) then please, feel free to go browsing through the more het-friendly categories. No harm done.

Also, I generally **don't **respond to reviews - sorry. It's not that I'm ignoring you, I love getting reviews, but I'm so awkward that I don't really know what to say. If you'd like a reply, or have a direct inquiry about something, feel free to ask, and I'd be happy to oblige c:

And the obligatory **Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, the majority of the characters aren't mine (just a few that I felt should be in there) and belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and BBC Sherlock. Seeing as this is unlikely to change during the course of the story, this disclaimer covers all chapters c:

_**UPDATE 28.08.2012:**_  
Also a couple of other **Disclaimers: **I feel it would be appropriate for me to mention this now. In one of the later chapters, there is a section of non-het rape. Just so you know. And then, in _another _(possibly more than one - I haven't decided yet) there is a bit of smut. Let's face it - we knew it was going to happen didn't we? So um. Yeah. That's that.

So, thank you for all your continued support, feel free to review or something, and I hope you enjoy what I've got going on here!

* * *

'Good morning, Mr Holmes. How are you feeling this morning?' The white-clothed nurse sat on the chair beside my bed.

I turned my head to look at her. 'Bored. When can I leave?'

The nurse smiled. 'You still have a couple of weeks left for your treatment. You're doing very well.'

I rolled my eyes. 'You say that every morning. I don't need to be here anymore. Everyone in this place is an idiot.'

'That's not very nice, Sherlock. You could at least try to make friends.'

I turned back towards looking at the ceiling. White. Like everything else. Boring. 'I don't have friends. I don't need friends. Besides, why would I even bother trying to sustain a relationship with any of these people? They're useless.'

I saw the nurse raise an eyebrow. 'They're here for the same reasons you are.'

'I maintain. Idiots and useless. I do not wish to communicate with any of them.' I sighed angrily. 'I don't want to be here.'

'You're here to get better, Sherlock. You're making good progress. A couple more weeks and you can go home.' She said gently.

'To get better? I was _perfectly _fine. My parents and my brother just disapprove of my decisions. I can handle my own life.'

'They apparently think different, hence your being here in rehab.' She put a parcel on the table beside my bed. 'Your brother, Mycroft. He came in this morning to drop that off. Some schoolwork for you-'

'Boring.' The schoolwork would no doubt be menial and already known to me.

'Schoolwork, a few bits and pieces and some university textbooks.'

I spun off the bed. 'Finally. I asked him for those weeks ago.'

The nurse smiled. Again. She was so _happy_. 'Well, think of it this way. This is the last parcel you'll get during your time here. Unless you happen to fall into your bad habits again and come back to us. For the third time.' She stood to leave. 'But I'm sure that won't happen again, will it?'

'No, of course not.' I replied innocently.

'Good. Lunch is in half an hour. Would you like to come out to the living room now?' she asked opening the door.

'I think I'll put these things away. I'll be out in ten minutes.'

The nurse nodded. 'Okay. I'll see you then.' She exited and closed the door softly.

* * *

As soon as the nurse had left, I opened the parcel from Mycroft. There was an unfortunate pile of schoolwork – French, chemistry and various other pieces of homework, thick textbooks on chemistry, psychology and forensic identification. There was also a bar of soap, a notepad, a fountain pen and my iPod, with a freshly loaded battery.

'Finally.' I muttered to myself. It had only taken Mycroft six weeks to get it to me.

I sorted the new belongings into their correct places, and headed out of my room towards the communal living room.

* * *

As I sat down in the living room, in one of the white plastic chairs with no trace of a cushion, the Irish boy came up to me.

'Sherly! How are you this morning?' he grinned.

'I'm not dignifying that with a response.' I replied flatly.

He titled his hair, and his dark hair fell sideways across his face. He blew it away and looked at me angrily. 'Why not? It's an acceptable question.'

'Maybe so, but I don't want to talk to you. Get out of my face.'

'Fine.' He said walking away. 'I'll talk to you later.'

'I look forward to it.' I muttered. James Moriarty, the Irish boy, had been here the first time I was admitted as well. He walked around with a swagger, like he thought himself to be more important than anyone else. He had taken an interest in me when I arrived, and hadn't left me alone since.

The bell for lunch rang quietly, and I walked towards the lunchroom. I took a plastic tray, a set of plastic cutlery, and went to investigate what culinary delights they had in store for us today. Today's meal was at least half way decent. Pasta, a salad and an apple with the usual plastic cup of either water or milk. I took my tray down to my usual table in the back corner of the room and pondered the amount of time I had before trading one group of idiots for another – back to school.

* * *

The two weeks I had left at the Tate Rehabilitation Centre for Troubled Youths went by miraculously fast, due to by habit to being able to think constantly for hours at a time without realising. My older brother, Mycroft, came to pick me up at 10a.m., Saturday morning. He frowned – still disapprovingly – at me as I gave him my bags to put in his car.

'Anyone you want to say goodbye to?' he asked. Given the look on my face, he just nodded and said 'I take it not. I'll go sign you out. Your phone is in the glove compartment.'

As he went off to sign my release forms, I took out my phone and turned it on. The familiar welcome screen popped up, and after loading for a few seconds, some texts came through.

_Four New Messages_

I scrolled through the menu and opened my inbox. All four were from Molly Hooper. She was the closest thing I had to a friend, and it wasn't by lack of trying on her behalf. We had been attending the same school since we were five, and she was very persistent in trying to become my friend. Only recently had I given her my cellphone number, and she was taking advantage of it.

The first message had been sent seven and a half weeks ago – just after I had started my second stint in rehab.

_Message from: Molly Hooper _

_Sherlock, I heard you got put in rehab again? Good luck! Molly xx_

The second had been sent five weeks ago.

_Message from: Molly Hooper_

_I know you won't have your phone, but I thought I'd text you anyway. Hope everything is going well! Molly xx_

The third, three weeks ago.

_Message from: Molly Hooper_

_Hope you've been keeping up with homework? I've seen your brother come in a few times to pick it up. Make sure you do it! The teachers will check when you come back. Molly xx_

The fourth and most recent message had been sent a few days ago.

_Message from: Molly Hooper_

_I cornered your brother this morning. I heard you're coming out on Saturday, so I'll see you back at school on Monday then? And don't forget your homework! Molly xx_

I had just finished reading the last message when another came through.

_New Message: Molly Hooper_

_Good morning, Sherlock! I hope rehab went well :) Maybe this time you won't start up again with those bad habits huh? Molly xx_

I quickly typed back a reply:

_Maybe. We'll have to see. –SH_

I locked my phone and shoved it into my pocket as Mycroft came back down the stairs. 'Ready to go? You're all signed out, and your tests were all clean, so let's make this the last time that I need you pick you up from here, shall we?' he smiled warningly.

'Of course, Mycroft. Why wouldn't my tests be clean? Did you expect me to somehow sneak contraband items into a rehab centre with snooping nurses who go through my things every morning?'

'It has been proven to be possible in the past, hasn't it?' he replied, starting his car.

I scowled and looked out my window moodily as Mycroft drove down the long driveway and out into the street.

* * *

We arrived home, and immediately, I grabbed my bags from the back of the car and went upstairs to my room. I searched in all my secret places – under the loose floorboard beneath my night stand, inside the hollowed out foot of my wardrobe, under my skull and the space just inside my fireplace where a brick had fallen out – for my secret stashes of "contraband" items. They were all empty, not like I had been expecting any to be there. Mycroft had been very thorough this time.

My parents weren't home, so I stayed in my room, organising things into piles to take to school for in my dormitory room over there.

The Axton Academy was a prestigious boarding school for both boys and girls, situated in the wider London area. Axton had originally been for boys only for the first 200 years of its existence, but had opened to girls after the Second World War, when part of the school had been destroyed. The staff and trustees had decided it was a good time to rebuild and extend. Four new dorm halls had been added, and over the years since, constant upgrades were being instilled as well. Of the original buildings, the main hall, staff quarters, a few lecture halls and the small school chapel were still standing. New classrooms, kitchen and bathroom facilities, a few gyms and a huge auditorium able to seat 2800 people had been added. There was wifi across the entire campus, and a small private airstrip beside the rugby fields.

The dorms had rooms which catered for two students each and had a small shared living room and a shared bathroom. There were also dorm living areas, bathrooms and a kitchen which served students the three main meals, as well as being open at all hours for snacks. At the end of each hall, there was a study area with computers, and for the students who were fitness fanatics, there was a fully outfitted gym for them to use.

Last year I had a room to myself, which I was perfectly happy with, seeing as everyone at my school either didn't like me or thought I was weird. That is, excluding Molly. She had friends, and was well respected by the rest of the student body, but was nice to me and was determined to make me talk to her. As much as I hated to admit it, I was glad that she had made the effort. She helped me with Literature assignments – understanding pointless books and movies we were forced to watch – and in return, I helped her with subjects like chemistry.

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. 'Sherlock? Dinner will be on the table in five minutes.'

'I'll be right down.' I looked at my clock – 6.30pm. My parents always hated me looking anything but neat, not that I expected them to be back yet. I wandered into my private bathroom and looked in the mirror. Hair: Acceptable. My dark curls were messy, but not noticeably so. I washed my hands and went downstairs to dinner.

Mycroft was sitting at the table, alone, already and a plate of food had been put in my usual spot. We ate in silence, but as I got up to leave, Mycroft gestured for me to sit back down.

'As I'm sure you noticed, neither of our parents are home yet.' He said.

'I had noticed. Where are they?' I asked.

'They went out for dinner. Mummy called you, but there was no reply, so they left.' He smiled. 'Now, the main reason I want to talk to you. You can't have another indiscretion like this, Sherlock.'

I scowled at him. 'Everything was under control. You didn't have to send me off to rehab again.'

'Well the first time didn't work, did it?' he raised an eyebrow. 'You'll have to make sure that this doesn't become a thing for you.'

'It's not a thing. It was undercontrol.' I repeated.

'So you've mentioned. Your idea of "under control" though, is to be half way to an overdose while being completely intoxicated.'

I felt my skin redden. 'Yes... Well... That was a bit far, I'll admit.'

'If you do that again, Sherlock, you _will_ be back in rehab. Most likely for longer than two months.' He shook his head. 'Two near overdoses in less than fourteen months, and you're only 16? It's not acceptable, Sherlock.'

I gritted my teeth. This was becoming a lecture. Again. 'Anything else?'

'Yes, actually.' He paused. 'Your other bad habits. They need to stop as well. You've no doubt noticed that all your secret stashes have been emptied of cigarettes, and a new lock has been put on the liquor cabinet for when you're at home.' He sighed. 'Sherlock, you and I both know that you're not a model student. Your schoolwork is of an exceptional standard, but your personal conduct and relating to other students is deteriorating. Axton will not stand for this much longer. You need to clean up your act.'

I stood up again. 'Is that it? Can I leave now?'

Mycroft sighed again. 'Sherlock, I know you're not exactly "troubled" and that you're doing all of this to yourself because you don't like being trapped in your head all the time. You need to be careful. Mummy is constantly worried, as am I. Call or text me if you need to. I'll be taking the majority of your stuff back up to Axton tomorrow if you want to come, and on Monday, I'm taking you there personally.' He paused thoughtfully. 'Unlike last time when the driver I assigned you failed to see you were drinking in the backseat.'

I ran my hand through my hair. 'Fine. I'll pack my stuff. Do I absolutely _need_ go to tomorrow? I'd rather procrastinate going back a bit longer.'

Mycroft nodded. 'You need to talk to the headmaster, but you can do that on Monday morning, so I suppose you can stay here tomorrow.'

'Good.' I turned and went back upstairs to pack my things.


	2. An Introduction

'Sherlock! Get up! You're going to be late!' Mycroft pounded on my door. 'Leaving in fifteen minutes get everything, make yourself presentable and be in my car by then, or I'm putting you back in rehab!'

I groaned and fell out of my bed onto the floor. I stood up and went to the bathroom, before putting on the Axton uniform draped across my desk. I checked in my room to make sure I hadn't left anything behind, and walked downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of coffee before I dropped myself into Mycroft's car, and prepared for the 45-minute drive out to Axton.

Once we had arrived at Axton, Mycroft dropped me off outside the administration block.

'Be good, Sherlock. I will hear about it.' With that encouraging farewell, he drove up to my dorm to get everything else into my room.

I walked into the reception area. 'You're expected, Mr Holmes. Go through the headmaster's office, and wait outside. He's busy right now.'

I nodded my thanks and wound my way through the corridors until I was outside the headmaster's office. Of the four seats opposite in the small waiting area opposite, one seat was already occupied.

A short, sandy-haired boy was there. His uniform was pristine, and his bag was neat. He had a huge grin plastered over his face and seemed to be restraining himself from physically bouncing in his seat. New student.

I sat as far away from him as possible and made as little noise as I could, but he saw me anyway.

'Hi!' he said enthusiastically. 'I'm new here. This is my first day. I'm pretty excited. Are you new too?'

'No.' I kept my eyes forward.

'Oh... Then why are you here? Are you in trouble?' he didn't appear able to stop himself from talking.

'Depends what your definition of trouble is.'

'Did you do something bad? Don't you like it here? I think it's going to be brilliant. I'm John Watson, by the way.'

I was spared replying to him by the headmaster opening his door and letting out the boy's parents. 'Welcome to Axton Academy, Mr Watson. You'll like it here immensely.' Mr Webster smiled. 'Goodbye, Mr and Mrs Watson. It was nice meeting you. Your son will fit in perfectly here.'

As the boy's parents walked out down the corridor after a long and tearful goodbye, he stood to leave. 'Mr Watson, you'll need to wait until your guide has arrived, so if you would sit back down please.' Mr Webster turned to me.

'Ah... Mr Holmes. Back from rehab again I see. Come in. We'd better get this over with.' He went back into his office and I followed, shutting the door.

'Mr Holmes. Welcome back. How did rehab go this time?' he asked.

'Fine.' I said, sitting in one of the chairs opposite his desk. 'I was ready to leave after two weeks, but they kept me in.'

'You _did_ nearly overdose again, Sherlock. You shouldn't make this a habit of yours.'

'I've had this lecture from my brother already, Mr Webster. I've told him already that I'll be more careful about... that.' I sighed. 'You don't need to repeat it.'

Mr Webster nodded. 'Okay, I won't.' He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with the edge of his sleeve. 'But I have given away the spare room in your suite.'

'What? Who to?' I demanded.

Mr Webster gestured to the corridor. 'Mr Watson. That room was the only one available.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Whatever. Can I go?' I asked, standing and picking up my bag.

He nodded. 'Yes, but take Mr Watson with you. You're his guide. You've been excused for the first few lessons to show him around. Stick with him. Be his friend. You might be good for each other.' He opened the door. 'Thank you, Mr Holmes. I trust this incident won't be repeated for a third time.' He said as I walked out into the waiting area.

'Of course not.'

'Good. John Watson, this is Sherlock Holmes. He will be your guide around for the first couple of days. He's also your roommate. You've both been excused from your first three lessons until lunch. Have a nice day, boys.'

'Thank you sir!' John grinned as Mr Webster went back into his office and shut the door.

I stayed standing for a few seconds before speaking. 'Are you going to get up? We should probably begin.' I said pointedly.

'Oh, yeah. Right.' He stood up. John wasn't actually as short as I had first thought – he came up to just past my nose at his full height. 'I'm John.' He said holding out his hand.

'Sherlock Holmes.' I said shaking his hand. 'Good to meet you.'

I headed off down the corridor and heard John having to nearly run to keep up with my stride.

'So you just came out of rehab?' he asked.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. 'Yes.'

'Mr Webster said it was your second time?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Unfortunately. They think I have a "problem".'

'What kind of problem?' he asked.

I sighed. 'You might as well know. It's old campus gossip here.'

'Okay...' he said slowly, confused.

'I have a few bad habits.' I said awkwardly. 'Usually this isn't the first thing that I tell people about myself.'

'It's okay. I'm your roommate. I'll probably find out sooner or later.'

I laughed sadly. 'There's a definite chance you will, yes. I went to rehab because I have a bit of a drug problem and I've nearly overdosed twice in the past fourteen months after becoming slightly intoxicated. As well as that, I occasionally smoke and drink.' I said casually.

'You nearly overdosed? Twice?' he squeaked. 'How old are you?'

'Sixteen. But I had it under control.' I said defensively.

'No offence, but it doesn't sound like you did.'

'That's why they sent me to rehab. Again. It was only because of my slight state of intoxication. I usually measure it out perfectly fine. I just slipped.'

'Look,' his tone had changed. 'I don't know anything about you, apart from that you have bad habits, your name is Sherlock Holmes and you're my roommate, but I would prefer that I don't wake up one morning to find you dead in the next room. Okay?'

'I don't need to justify my actions to you. Where do you want to start with this tour?' I asked, changing the subject.

'Our dorm?' he suggested. 'I need to drop off a few things.'

I nodded. 'Follow me.' I lead us out of the administration block and towards our dorm, taking shortcuts that would avoid my being seen by as many people as possible.

'So what's the deal with the dorms? Are they confined to one gender per block, or what?' he asked.

'The dorms. Okay. There are 5 dorms. Each is named so no one misunderstands which dorm you're from. The only one that you need to know right now is Payton Hall. That's where we live. The dorms are all three floors each. The bottom floor has the facilities, like the communal living room, the kitchen and dorm dining room, the gym, the study room with its computers and then the bathrooms. That's G floor. Got it so far?' I asked.

John nodded. 'Yup. We live in Payton Hall, G floor has the facilities.'

'Good. The top two floors are the bedroom suites. There are 22 suites on each floor, and they house two students per room, so the dorms can have 44 students per floor, and 88 per whole dorm. Each room has a small bathroom, two bedrooms and a small living space between them. Those rooms are A and B. For example – our room is 221. That means, floor two – the top floor, room 21. You have bedroom A and I have bedroom B, which makes your room 221A and mine 221B. Understand?'

'Yup. Anything else?'

'Each floor has both genders on it, and each room will only have two people of the same gender to avoid any inappropriate behaviour.' I smiled. 'Not that that's stopped people before.'

John laughed. 'Okay. Where do we get bed linen, towels and whatever from?'

'There are small cupboards in each room with sets of linen and towels. That way, if someone gets up at a ridiculous hour and wants to shower, they don't wake up the rest of the hall.'

'Understandable. Is this our dorm?' he asked.

'Yeah.' The dorm stood before us. It was huge and to someone who hadn't been around it their entire lives, it must have seemed quite imposing. The dorm was clad in bricks the colour of rust, had ivy crawling up the sides, nearly to the top, and had black iron window frames.

'Is one of those our room?'

'No,' I shook my head, and pushed the fallen hair out of my face. 'Ours is on the other end. We overlook part of the junior blocks and rugby fields.'

'Oh. Okay.' He said as we headed inside the door.

The woman at the front desk looked up as we entered. 'Sherlock Holmes. Thought we'd seen the last of you.' She smiled. 'Welcome back. How was rehab?'

'Ridiculously boring, same as last time.' I said approaching the desk.

'You would find it so, wouldn't you? Who's this?' she asked, looking at John.

'John Watson. He's in 221 with me. John, this is Mrs Hudson. She's the day dorm keeper. She looks after us here in Payton Hall.'

'Nice to meet you, John. You'll both be needing your keys, I assume?' she said reaching under the desk to retrieve the two keys. 'Don't lose them. Have a nice day, boys.'

I took the keys from her outstretched hand and led John through the living area.

'So this is the living area, TV on one side, games area on the other, couches spread through the whole room.' I gave him a key. 'Put that somewhere safe. I don't want people able to get into my room. If you don't lose it, and I won't, the only key that can unlock our room is the skeleton key that hangs under the desk, which has staff at it 24/7, making it nearly impossible to leave during the night.' John nodded and shoved it into the pocket of his bag.

'Moving on.' I said as we passed through the living room and into the main corridor. 'On the left is the study room, the only things in there are computers, chairs and tables. The computers are monitored and certain websites are blocked.' I dropped my voice to a whisper. 'The blocking system, however, is easy to override if you know how to.'

'Why are you whispering?' John asked quietly.

'All the communal spaces have security cameras to keep tabs on what everyone is doing, making sure there's none of that inappropriate behaviour I mentioned earlier.' I laughed. 'That's why it's generally done in the rooms upstairs. They aren't monitored, because that's seen as a breach of privacy.' I gestured to the right side of the corridor. 'The dorm gym is in there. Fully outfitted with pretty much every piece of gym equipment you can think of. We came to the end of the corridor.

'In front of us is the dorm kitchen, which is open all hours. The door on the left leads to the stairs, and beside us is the elevator. It's usually faster to take this, apart from if you're running late to or from a lesson. Seeing as it's likely that we're the only people, save Mrs Hudson, here right now, we'll just take that.'

John pressed the button, and the doors opened immediately. We stepped inside and he pressed the button with "2" on it. The elevator hummed as we rose up in silence.

The doors opened and I went right out of the door. John came out a couple of seconds later and spotted me already nearly half way down the corridor.

I stopped in front of room 221 and opened the door. 'This is us.' I said, gesturing to the room as John stopped to a halt beside me.

'Cool.' He stepped inside. 'So which room is mine?'

'Left of the door.' I replied as I shut the door behind us. 'We still have quite a bit of time, so I just want to sort some things out with you – boundaries, rules, whatever.' I dropped my bag on the floor and sat in one of the two armchairs.

'Okay...' said John, taking the other. 'Go ahead.'

'I don't go in your room, you don't come into mine, unless invited.' He nodded, so I continued. 'Don't touch each other's personal items – phones, iPods, laptops – unless invited. No showering at obscene times.'

'Okay, that's fine.'

'Also, about me. I play the violin, don't get to sleep until quite late and sometimes I go for days without speaking to people unless absolutely necessary. Does any of that bother you?'

'Nope. Any other weird habits?'

I smiled. 'Apart from my bad habits you mean?'

'Yeah... Apart from those.'

'I don't eat when I'm thinking.'

He looked shocked. 'What?'

'Digestion slows me down.' I waved my hand dismissively.

'Okay then... I have a couple of rules too, if I might add them?' he asked slowly.

'Of course.'

'No using each other's things, like soap or deodorant, and we knock on each other's doors before entering, should the other person have company.'

'Agreed.' I sad laughing. 'You don't need to worry about me having company though.'

'Don't have a girlfriend?' he asked.

'No. Girls are...' I paused thoughtfully. 'I don't get on with girls generally.'

'Oh...' John blushed. 'So are you... Do you... Like... Boys?' he asked slowly.

I laughed. 'I don't like people much. But in the context you're asking about, I suppose I might answer that with a yes.'

John's eyes widened. 'Do I-'

'Need to worry? No. I don't act on it. Why? Would it bother you if I did?'

'No. It's fine. You can do what you want.' He replied with a shrug.

'Thank you. It's nice to know someone accepts it.' I spotted a box in the corner with "SH" written on it in thick black letters, so I got up and opened it. 'Ah. I thought I'd forgotten something.' I said quietly.

'What's in there?' John asked, peering over my shoulder.

'A few bits and pieces I forgot to pack. My skull, laptop charger and a few books.'

'Sorry,' John looked confused. 'Did you just say "skull"?'

I took it out of the box. 'Yes?'

'Oh my God. Is that real?' he seemed slightly distressed. Not like it was _his_ skull.

'Of course. What's the point in having a fake skull?' I asked, going to put it in my room.

'No idea. That's a bit morbid, don't you think?' he asked, running his hand through his hair.

'No, why would I?' I replied coming back out of my room.

He rolled his eyes and sat back down. 'Never mind. Anything else you want to mention?'

I thought for a few seconds. 'Nope. Unless you have anything you want to ask.'

After a few seconds pause, he looked up at me from my hands. 'Anything?'

'Of course.' I sat back in my chair, and swung my legs over the arm. 'Go ahead.'

'Did you actually go to rehab? Or is it a private joke I'm not getting?'

I shook my head. 'No, I have actually been to rehab twice. Because yes, I actually do drugs sometimes, and yes, I have nearly overdosed. Next.'

'Why do you do it?' he asked quietly.

'It's hard to explain. It's a way for me to escape reality for a little bit. The therapist I had in rehab says it's because I have too much intelligence for my own good.' I laughed. 'It's also why I play violin and don't speak or eat when I'm thinking. Sometimes my head gets _too_ full.'

John nodded. 'Okay. You said before, that you don't really like people that much. Why is that?'

I sighed. 'Nearly all of them are idiots, and they don't like me. They call me a "freak".'

'Why is that?' John frowned.

'They find me intimidating.' I laughed again.

'Intimidating? I don't think you're intimidating.'

'Had you met me under different circumstances, you probably would. Someone would have told you about me and my preferences. I've also talked to you more today than I have to nearly everyone else in the twelve years of schooling we've had together. It's also because I, ah, have a very particulate set of skills.'

'Like what?' he asked, tilting his head slightly.

'I can look at someone and read their life off the way they look, act, and speak.' I said casually.

'Oh really?' he asked, interestedly. 'What can you tell about me?'

'Sure you want me to do that?'

'Yup. Do it.'

'Okay then.' I looked at him for a few seconds. 'When I saw you this morning, your uniform was – and still is – pristine. Your bag was neat and you were practically bouncing in your seat. There was also a huge grin on your face. Obviously a new student. The fact that you were so happy and had so much _pride_ in your appearance shows that it's unlikely you've ever been to a private school. Your mother crying as she left means that you've probably never been to a boarding school, unless she's just extremely emotional. As your parents passed me, I saw that they had a couple of other hairs on their clothes. Black, which means that you probably have a sibling with dyed hair, seeing as neither you nor your parents are dark haired. The length means you likely have a sister. Your phone, which I saw as you opened your bag to put the key in it, was a model a few months old, but it was in a very near new condition. You take good care of it, because you likely don't have many expensive items. That, and combined with your behaviour this morning, and the fact that you've just come to this school means that you've probably moved here from a different city with the relocation of a parent's job, and a raise in pay seeing as you're now here, not at a public school. Possibly paid for by the parent's work as an incentive to move.' I paused. 'Shall I go on?'

Over the course of my deductions, John's jaw had slowly dropped. 'That's incredible. How did you do that?'

I shrugged. 'Observation.'

'And people think you're a freak for it?'

I nodded. 'And I'm constantly told so. With the occasional attempted beat up to go with it.'

'People try to beat you up?' he frowned. 'That's not very nice. Have you ever been hurt because of it?'

I smiled. 'No. I can hold my own in a fight. They think that just because I'm thin, not athletic and more intelligent than more than half of the student body put together, that I'm weak. Also, they think my preferences make me a pacifist. Completely not the case.'

'Really? Do you hit back?'

'Me? Rarely. They tend to end up hurting themselves trying to land a punch.' I swung off the chair and stood smoothly. 'We should probably move on now.'

He nodded. 'I suppose. Oh, wait a minute. I'll just put some stuff in my room.'

I took the box to my room while John organised his things away. He was waiting in the living area when I came back of the room. 'Done?' I asked him.

He nodded. 'Yup.'

'Okay then. Let's continue, shall we?' I said, opening the door.


	3. Molly

Classes had just been let out, so there were many people rushing around. John and I managed to get out to the path in front of Payton Hall before someone finally spotted me.

'Sherlock!' I heard someone behind me squeal. As I turned, around, someone hurtled into me and hugged me tightly. 'It's so good to see you!'

'Oh... Hi, Molly.' I said patting her awkwardly on the back.

'I thought you said you didn't fancy girls?' John said, leaning towards me and speaking as quietly as he was able.

'I'm not his girlfriend.' Molly laughed. 'Well I am... Not his girlfriend. I'm his friend, who's a girl.' She said confusedly.

'Got it. I'm John Watson. I just started here today.' John said holding out his hand.

'Molly Hooper. How do you know Sherlock?' she asked, shaking his hand.

'I'm his roommate.'

Molly looked shocked. 'Roommate? I thought you didn't want a roommate, Sherlock.'

'I didn't. I suspect it to be Mycroft's doing. He's decided I need to be kept under observation since I came out of rehab.' I explained.

'Oh look at that!' I heard someone remark snidely.

I rolled my eyes and turned around. 'Anderson.' I greeted him coldly.

'How was rehab? Was your boyfriend still there?' a few of his accompanying idiots sniggered.

'Hey, leave him alone!' John stepped him between us.

'Ooh, got a new boyfriend?' Anderson asked with mock interest.

'No.' I replied at the same time as John said 'So what if he does?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Don't you have a class to get to?' I asked Anderson pointedly.

'You've been saved this time, Sherlock. Don't expect your new _boyfriend_ to always be there to protect you.' He said walking away.

As he turned the corner, I turned to John. 'Are you insane? They're going to start on you as well now. You'll be marked as my boyfriend and never get a date in your life here!'

John looked a bit offended, but stayed adamant. 'What if I don't care? You need someone on your side, Sherlock.'

'I don't need people on my side. I don't need _friends_.' I spat the word. 'Hurry up! We only have two hours left to show you the entire campus!' I stalked away, people clearing a path for me as I did.

I didn't speak any more to John than I had to on the rest of the tour around the school. I showed him around the junior blocks, gymnasiums, and most of the blocks in the first hour we had, then finished off the other blocks, the auditorium and the library in the second. The bell for lunch rang, and I led us back to the dorm to get some food. John got a huge piece of pizza and a bit of salad – approximately five lettuce leafs – for "balance", while I got a chicken Panini and an apple.

John looked at my plate. 'That's so... healthy.' He said, looking slightly confused. 'Why didn't you get pizza? This is the best pizza I think I've ever eaten.'

'Pizza makes me feel kind of nauseous.' I replied, starting on my apple.

'Nauseous? It's delicious!' he then proceeded to eat the rest of it in less than five minutes as I sat with a look of – what I imagined must have come across as – disgust. John sighed longingly. 'Do you think there's anymore? I feel starved.'

'They always make extra. Please, go get another piece. It was fascinating to watch you consume half a cattle on a piece of dough.'

'Is he always like this?' John asked Molly, who had come to sit at our table.

She nodded. 'Usually. If not, he's either slightly drunk, on drugs, or being sarcastic.' Molly laughed at John's shocked expression. 'It's mainly sarcasm. Well it should be now he's out of rehab.'

John looked relieved. 'That's good. Sarcasm I can manage.'

Molly raised an eyebrow. 'Don't get used to it. He'll be using again in a few weeks. You have...' she studied me for a few seconds. 'Between two and three months of pure sarcasm ahead of you. Enjoy.'

John groaned and looked at me pleadingly. 'Tell me she's joking.'

I paused thoughtfully. 'No, that's about right. However, I don't want to go back to rehab, so if you're lucky, I won't go back to drugs again.'

Molly shook her head. 'Let's hope so eh?' she finished her sandwich and got up to put her tray away. 'What do you have after lunch?' she asked, returning to sit down again.

'John and I have history with Mrs Fischer.' I said, rolling my eyes. 'That should be interesting.'

'Why?' asked John, sounding concerned. 'What's wrong with her?'

'I have that too. Sherlock and Mrs Fischer get into arguments about everything.' said Molly laughing. 'It's hilarious. We learn more off Sherlock than Mrs Fischer. She's really nice, but gets absurdly angry with Sherlock. She tries to teach... softly. Like, really kindly. Class goes so slowly. Don't worry. You'll be fine. Ignore her if she starts crying.'

'Why would she start crying?'

Molly sighed. 'Everyone reminds her of a student she used to teach at some time or another. She gets caught up in old memories.'

I rolled my eyes and Molly laughed.

'What's up with you, Sherlock?' I asked him.

'Sherlock reminds Mrs Fischer of his older brother, Mycroft.' Molly explained.

'Is that a bad thing?' John asked confused.

I glared at him. 'You haven't met my brother.' I gave no further explanation.

'Who do you remind her of, Molly?' John queried.

'This girl called Susan Peters apparently.' Molly wrinkled her nose.

The same confused look appeared on John's face. He opened his mouth to ask another question.

'Molly gets the most crying out of all of us.' I butted in. 'Mrs Fischer doesn't bother explaining why and we've learnt not to ask. She's ridiculous.'

'Sherlock, don't be mean. She's nice! And don't start that again, you'll get in trouble again.'

I rolled my eyes. 'It barely matters. I'm only taking the course because Mycroft insisted.'

'Come on, Sherlock. You know that secretly you enjoy it.'

'Being compared to my brother on a daily basis? Hardly.'

Molly shook her head. 'It's useless trying to argue with you. I'm just going to pretend I agree and move on.' A bell rang over our heads – a 10 minute warning to start heading to classes. 'Perfect timing. I've already got my books, so I'll see you in History.' Molly smiled and left the table.

I stood. 'We need to get our books. Let's go. Class is on the other side of campus.' I left the table, dumping my tray with the others and went swiftly up to room 221 to get my books, hoping John didn't walk too slowly.


	4. Emails

John did catch up. He practically had to jog in order to do so, but he did. We gathered the necessary items from our dorm room and made our way quickly to the History classroom on the other side of campus.

Students had unfortunately noticed my return, and I could feel their eyes on me as I walked past them. There were whispers surrounding me and I scowled at what I knew they were saying – none of it particularly pleasant.

When we eventually reached the classroom, the teacher hadn't arrived yet, and the door was still locked, forcing me and John to stand amidst our classmates. The conversation stopped as soon as they saw me round the corner and the silence was deafening as we waiting for Mrs Fischer to appear. Thankfully, we didn't have to wait very long, and the other students caused a small stampede trying to get away from me. John and I followed suit and he followed me to my usual seat towards the back of the classroom, with Molly taking her seat on my other side.

Mrs Fischer stood at the front of the class and addressed us. 'Good afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you've noticed two new additions to the class. One not so new, admittedly. We have a John Watson, is he here at the moment?' John raised his hand. 'Ah, there we are. This is John everyone.' She smiled at him and her eyes began to fill with water. She shook it away and smiled at me in a way that suggested she wasn't pleased with my return. 'And welcome back, Mr Holmes. How was rehab this time?'

I rolled my eyes as most of the class snickered. 'Fine. Otherwise I wouldn't be here.'

Mrs Fischer looked at me with the sternest face she could muster. 'Smoking is a _very_ bad habit, Mr Holmes.'

'You're hardly one to talk.' I snapped. Her yellowing finger nails could be seen through her chipping nail polish, and her teeth had begun to take on a similar hue.

She blushed. 'Mr Holmes -'

'That's not what we're here to discuss, I know. Please – continue.' I gestured for her to begin her teaching and leaned back into my chair. This was going to be a long 50 minutes.

As predicted, Mrs Fischer came over to John about halfway through the lesson and looked down at him sadly. 'Henry Newman... Oh dear me, dear me. Such a nice young boy. I hope you're a pleasure like he was...' She sighed. 'I'm Mrs Fischer. I'll be your history teacher. Did you take history at your last school?' she asked John.

'Yes, I did.' John nodded.

Mrs Fischer smiled. 'That's good to hear. History is a fascinating subject. I'm sure you'll easily be able to catch up on the coursework we've already started.' She handed him a pile of paperwork. 'That's a general overview of what we've done so far – just a bit of light reading for you.' She patted John on the shoulder before turning to me. 'Did you receive the homework I gave your brother for you while you were in rehab?'

'I did. It was quite simple.'

'Would you like to hand it to me now, or tomorrow?'

I pulled the homework from my folder. 'I finished it in little over an hour. I think I'll just give it to you now.' I replied, handing it to her.

'That's good.' She smiled. 'How's your brother?'

'I'd imagine he's perfectly happy now that I'm not his problem for the moment.'

Mrs Fischer sighed. 'Such a nice boy, Mycroft. It's a shame you're not more like him... ' she wandered off, checking people were doing their work. As she did, John looked sideways at me and barely managed to contain his laughter at the expression that must have been on my face.

The lesson ended and we split ways – I had chemistry and John went off to have geography with Molly.

Chemistry was one of the only subjects I didn't find boring. Even though I already knew what we were being taught, I still found it more enjoyable than my other subjects.

I met up with John back in our dorm room after classes had finished for the day. I tossed my bag onto my bed in and flopped into one of the armchairs in the small living space.

John sat down and looked around the room for a few seconds, before turning his attention to me. 'Uh... Isn't it bad for you to sit with your head hanging upside down like that?'

I lifted my head and shifted so that I was sitting normally in the chair. 'I don't think it's as harmful as some of my other activities. Is this more to your liking?' I asked sarcastically.

'Well I just meant... Never mind.' He shifted and looked expectantly at me.

'What?'

'Are we not going to talk about something..?'

'Why should we?'

'Well... I don't know. I just thought maybe since it was my first day.'

I sighed. 'How was your first day.'

John grinned, happy I had gotten his hint. 'Not too bad. Teachers are all okay I guess. I met a few people that could turn out to be good friends to me-'

'Like who?' I interrupted.

'Uh... I forget their names.' He shook his head before relaunching himself into conversation. 'I got asked to try out for the football team too.' His grin widened. 'And I think Molly might like me.'

'Nonsense. She doesn't like you.' I waved my hand dismissively.

'What do you mean?' he frowned.

'Molly. She doesn't like you in the way you were suggesting. Friend, possibly. More, no.'

'How do you know?'

I moved back to my original position, with my head on the armrest. 'She's liked me for close to a year. Unreciprocated, of course. She knows about me – everyone does, but she can't help herself.'

'You sound very sure of yourself.'

'Of course. Not only did I deduct that from her behaviour, she also told me.'

John paused thoughtfully. 'Even though she knows you're...'

I raised an eyebrow and nodded. 'Yes.'

He leant back. 'Huh. So no hope for me then?'

'Maybe, maybe not.'

'Helpful.' He stood up. 'I need to check my emails. My parents will probably have sent me at least six asking me how my day went.' He retrieved his laptop from his room and sat back down.

'Six?' I asked, staring at the ceiling.

John sighed as he opened his inbox. 'Make that nine.'

'Nine emails...' I mused.

'Yeah. Do your parents not email you that much?'

I turned to head to look at him. 'I've only received...' I counted them in my head. 'Three emails from my parents the entire time I've been at Axton.'

'Three emails? How long have you been here?'

'My entire schooling career.'

'Do your parents not care or something?' he asked rather forwardly.

I laughed. 'Good question. They only care if I'm about to kill myself with an OD or if I spend too much money catering to other needs and hobbies. My brother mostly handles everything.'

'Oh...' he turned his attention to the screen and left me to stare at the ceiling.


	5. Plastic

Sherlock was silent the entire time I was reading my emails. All of them more or less said the same thing – 'How are you, how was your day, don't lose anything, we love you!' I replied to my parents in one email, telling them all about my day – and Sherlock. I left out certain details; like that he did drugs occasionally, and had been to rehab twice. My parents would have called the school and demanded that I be moved from my room if I had mentioned those things. Bad influences and all that.

I didn't think I would have much trouble with Sherlock. He seemed good enough. I had accepted his past relatively easy, though I still didn't want to wake up and find him dead one morning.

I closed my laptop and put it back in my room. 'Should we get changed from our uniforms or something?' I asked Sherlock.

He shrugged. 'Probably. Not that it makes much difference.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Well I'm going to. This shirt is horrible.' I walked into my room and pulled off my jumper. I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before opening my bag.

'What the hell?' I yelled. 'Sherlock!'

I walked swiftly into the living room with my bag between two fingers.

'What is it?' Sherlock swung into the room from his – wearing a pair of dark trousers but with no shirt on.

I stood staring open mouthed at him for a few seconds. His jumper was deceptive, making him look only thin. I would never have guessed, but underneath he had a surprisingly toned torso. Muscles perfectly defined without being too bulky, and his arms – his arms were practically perfect.

He must have noticed my staring because he crossed his arms in front of himself and jerked his head towards the bag. 'What is it?'

I shook my head to clear it and pulled out a plastic bag with a dead rat in it. 'What the hell is this in my bag for?'

To my surprise, he chuckled. 'At least yours is in plastic.' He ducked back into his room and emerged buttoning up a dark purple shirt. 'Let me guess. Anderson is in your geography class?'

I nodded. 'How did you-'

'I got one after people first started finding out about me.' He sat back in his chair and started rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. 'The only reason yours is in a plastic bag is because they don't know whether you are gay or if you were just stupidly standing up for me.'

'What do I do with it?' I asked.

'There are bins down the end of the hall. They get cleaned out daily. Go dump it in there.' He pulled out his cellphone and ignored me.

When I came back, he was still sitting in his chair. 'If you don't mind, could I ask you something?'

He nodded and slid the phone into his pocket. 'Go ahead.'

I waited, trying to figure out how to word my question. 'When did people figure out you were gay?'

He looked thoughtful. 'A couple of years ago. People noticed my obvious lack of attraction to the opposite gender and started calling me gay as a joke. I saw no need to try and "blend in" so I told them that I was. They ignored me after, but continue to despise me for it and pull pathetic pranks. And the occasional attempted beatings which I've already mentioned.'

'Is that why you've got such muscles? Do you train?' The questions slipped out before I could stop them.

'One does not grow up with an older brother and not learn how to fight. The training – hmm. Yes, I suppose you could call it that. I was forced to do martial arts for a few years when I was quite young, and then I got into boxing after that. I no longer do either, but I do practise them occasionally.'

I nodded. 'They're quite impressive.' Again. Word vomit. I cringed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to his phone.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket and looked at me. 'What.'

'Nothing.' I said innocently.

'No, what do you want to know? You've obviously got something on your mind.'

'Um...' I dismissed my original question from my mind and asked something completely random. 'Isn't that shirt a bit formal?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'No. It's just a shirt. That wasn't what you wanted to ask though, was it?'

Crap. 'No.'

He gestured for me to continue. 'What did you want to know?'

I paused before speaking. 'Um... When we ran into Anderson, um, you said that I uh, wasn't your boyfriend.'

'That's because you aren't.'

I ignored him and continued. 'Well, yes, I know, but um. I don't care if people, well. I don't care-'

'If they think you are.'

I nodded. 'Yeah. That.'

'What are you trying to say, John?' Sherlock asked slowly.

'Well... I don't know. Um...'

'Look, I don't need you to protect me.'

'No, no. I didn't say that. I thought you might want a friend.'

'I don't need friends. Things get complicated when other people involve themselves in my life.' Sherlock moved to have his head back on the armrest. 'And if I remember correctly, which I always do, you just offered to be my boyfriend.'

I blushed. 'I didn't-'

'John, leave it.'

'Okay.' I nodded. 'But do you have a boyfriend?' It was like I had no control over what I was saying.

'No, I don't.'

'Right. Me neither.' I stopped, realising what I had just said.

Sherlock looked at me, amused. 'No boyfriend, John?'

I blushed deeper. 'That's not what-'

'Are you not telling me something, John? You appear to have some sort of hidden agenda.' He smirked.

'I do not!' I stood angrily. 'You're twisting my words!'

'We'll see about that.' He went into his room and left me standing awkwardly in our living room staring stupidly at the chair he had just vacated.

I heard the sound of a violin coming from Sherlock's room not long after. He was quite good. I sat back in my chair and listened to it, until the music was interrupted by what must have been, Sherlock's ringtone. The violin stopped abruptly and I heard him start speaking.

'What do you want?' There was a brief pause while the other person replied. 'I'm fine! Why can't you just leave me alone for a while to suffer by myself?' Another pause. 'Well, I'm sure your money was well spent on me in rehab, Mycroft. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I might return later this year!' I heard Sherlock sigh angrily. 'I've missed enough school? The work they give me is pathetic. And it's touching you care about my education so much, really. It is.' I could hear him pacing around his bedroom as he was given a lengthy response. 'Mycroft, you can stop pretending that you care what happens to me. And it's my money that I spend on my activities.' He strode into the living room and starting pacing again. 'Yes, I know that you control how much I get-' Suddenly he stopped pacing and turned very pale. 'No, you can't do that! It's my money!' he rolled his eyes. 'If you stop my monthly allowance, I will do it again. And you know I'm capable of it.' He sat in his chair. 'Look, this has been a pleasant conversation and all, but I'm not in the mood to be lectured by you on what I can and cannot do. Good evening, Mycroft.' Sherlock ended the call and looked at me.

'I'm guessing you heard most of that.'

I nodded. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine. So you understand what just happened?'

'Mostly. I got a bit lost.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Right. My brother has threatened to stop my allowance if I stray too much back towards my bad habits – a little bit is okay, just to keep me from going insane. I told him that I would nearly OD myself again if he did.' He looked at me. 'Don't worry. As I've said, I measure it out perfectly. I know what I can handle.'

I nodded. 'Okay. I'd still appreciate you not killing yourself though.'

He laughed sadly. 'Don't tell me what to do. I won't though. I know exactly what I'm doing.'

I gave him a dubious look. 'If you say so. Are you prone to suicidal tendencies?'

'You don't trust me, do you?'

'I guess I do, just not to kill yourself.' I said after a few seconds.

Sherlock stood. 'Okay then. Get up, follow me.' He disappeared into his room and I did as he asked.

Sherlock's room was sparsely decorated, and had already become slightly messy. He had the same fittings as I did – a desk, a chair, a chest of drawers and a nightstand – and a few others. The most obvious, however, was the huge, wooden double bed he had. I only had a small metal framed single bed. Sherlock was leaning against the end of his bed while he watched me look around.

'You have a double bed.' I said.

'I do.' he nodded.

'How did you get that?'

He smiled. 'I have my ways.'

'Right. Why am I in here?' I asked.

'If we're going to be roommates,' he scowled at the word. 'Then you need to trust me. Yes?'

'I suppose...'

'Okay then. I'm only going to show you where I stash one of my bad habits. The teachers haven't found any of them, so don't go looking for the rest, because you won't either. If one day, a teacher comes in here and finds this stash, I'll know you told them because none of the teachers are smart enough to find it themselves. Got it?'

I nodded.

'Good. However, because you seem quite unhappy with my habit of taking drugs. So,' he cringed. 'I'm going to show you where I keep them.'

I felt shock creep into my expression. 'Wow. Um. Okay.'

Sherlock turned and gently lifted the side of his bed. He put his hand under the foot of the bed near the headboard and grabbed something.

'This,' he showed me an inconspicuous black box. 'Is where I keep them. This goes into the leg of the bed, and then there's a small block which fits under it.' He put it back and stood to look at me. 'Don't worry, it's empty.'

I nodded. 'That's a relief.' I smiled. 'Thank you.'

'For what?'

'Trusting me with your stash.'

'You wouldn't have trusted me if I hadn't shown you. Always worrying if I was going to randomly take some drugs in the middle of the night while you're sleeping.' He smiled sadly. 'You have another question?'

'Yeah, um. Why do you have such a huge bed?' I asked, changing the subject.

'It's not that big. Single beds are annoying.'

'It's a bed. You sleep in it. How are they annoying?'

'Too small. Besides, it's actually easier to hollow out a wooden bed as opposed to a metal one.'

'Makes sense.' I nodded. 'When's dinner? I hope there's more of that pizza...'


	6. Saturday

It was my fourth day at Axton, and so far, there had been no more dead rat situations. Sherlock had started speaking less and less to me, and he often played violin through the night. I would have thought it would annoy the people in the rooms around us, but apparently not – we never got any complaints. My teachers were all pretty nice to me, though Mrs Fischer continued to become nostalgic around me, often patting my shoulders, or face sighing about what a nice boy I was. The football team had already had their tryouts, but I was put onto the team and replaced one of the other guys, who the captain said "lacked talent".

A few days later, I had become indifferent to Sherlock's violin playing. I woke up early on Saturday morning – around 3am, and didn't hear anything. It worried me – usually he would still be playing his violin at this time. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I got up and went into the living room and the bathroom. He was in neither. Thinking maybe Sherlock had just fallen asleep, I knocked on his door timidly. There was no reply, so I opened it – not in there either. Sherlock and I had exchanged cellphone numbers earlier in the week, in case I got lost and needed directions or something. I typed a text out quickly and sent it.

_Just woke up. Where are you? Not doing anything stupid I hope. –JW_

The reply came back swiftly. _Ground floor gym. –SH_

Taking that as an invitation, I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie before taking my key and locking the door as I went off to find him.

Usually the hall would have been patrolled, but the dorm monitor didn't care if we were up late on the weekends. I took the stairs two at a time and saw a crack of light coming from under the gym door. I pushed it open and stepped inside. I couldn't see Sherlock, but I could hear something being pounded repetitively.

'I'm over here, John.' Sherlock's voice floated towards me from the corner where the punching bags were.

'What are you doing?' I yawned, walking towards him. 'It's 3 in the morning.'

'What am I doing? I couldn't sleep. What are _you _doing is the question.' He took a long sip from a plastic drink bottle on the bench beside him.

I shrugged. 'Woke up. Didn't hear you playing violin. Got worried.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'I don't play violin every night.'

'How long have you been down here?' I asked, sitting on the bench.

'Since about 1.30. I needed to punch something.'

'Why?'

'Mycroft. Texted. Me.' He accentuated every word with a hit to the punching bag.

'What did he say?' I rubbed my forehead. The light was too bright for me after just emerging from nearly complete darkness.

'He's cutting my allowance. Less than half of what I usually get.' He kicked the bag and it swung madly, threatening to hit me in the face.

'At least it's not entirely gone.' I yawned.

Sherlock laughed. 'It might as well be. Mycroft is only doing it to annoy me.' He stopped the bag as it narrowly missed me again.

'Mhmm.' I closed my eyes.

'John, go back to bed. You look like you're about to fall off the bench.'

'Probably.' I mumbled, standing. 'When are you planning to finish your um... Punching?'

Sherlock stooped to pick up his bag and took another sip from his drink bottle. 'I might as well go back now.'

'Okay then.' I walked off towards the door and waited for Sherlock to turn the lights off.

We took the elevator back up to our floor, and I was glad we did. I was nearly falling asleep as it hummed towards the top storey. Had we taken the stairs, I would have probably stumbled and got a concussion from hitting my head on the steps. Sherlock unlocked the door to our room and guided me into my room.

'I know it's a rule not to have showers at obscene times, but you don't mind, seeing as you're already awake?'

I pulled my hoodie off. 'I wouldn't call it "awake" as such, but go ahead. Even though you still smell pretty good.' I collapsed backwards onto my bed.

Sherlock paused and looked at me strangely. 'John, I think you need to sleep.'

'Got that right.' I replied sleepily, tugging off my sweatpants from my position on the bed. I threw them in the general direction of my desk chair and manoeuvred myself under the covers.

Sherlock chuckled. 'I won't be too long in the shower. Though I think you'll be asleep before I even get _in_. Goodnight, John.'

'Mm. Night, Sherlock.' I replied. I heard him shut the door. Sherlock was right. When I woke up later on Saturday morning, I didn't remember hearing him get in the shower.

I wandered into the living room at about 11am to find Sherlock sitting in his chair reading a thick textbook on psychology. His eyes flicked up from the page for a brief moment.

'Morning, John. How did you sleep?'

'Fine.' I yawned. 'I have a question. Well. Several actually.'

'Go ahead.'

'Last night, did I actually go see you in the gym, or did I dream that?'

He chuckled. 'No, you actually did that.'

I groaned. 'Crap. I told you that you smelt good didn't I?'

I saw a hint of a smile appear on his face. 'You did. Next question.'

'What do we do for fun here on weekends?' I flopped into my chair and propped my feet up on the small table in front of it.

'Study, go to the gym or library.' Sherlock looked up at me as I sighed wearily. 'There's also a small town about 20 minutes walk from here. That's also a possibility.'

'That's good. I might go check it out later then. Do you want to come?' I asked.

'Maybe, maybe not. You still had one more question?'

'Oh right. Is the kitchen still open?'

'Yes, John. The kitchen is still open.' Sherlock shut his book. 'I might go get an apple or something.' He stood. 'You might want to get dressed.'

Sherlock waited for me while I changed out of my pyjamas and went into the bathroom. I studied my face in the mirror. My hair was messy, and I couldn't be bothered finding my brush, so I straightened it as best I could with my fingers.

'Shall we?' Sherlock said opening the door.

We walked down to the kitchen in silence and found the dining room practically empty, apart from a few people here and there. I grabbed a plain bagel from the stack on the bench, while Sherlock selected an apple.

'Do we need to tell someone we're going to town or something?' I asked through a mouth of bagel.

Sherlock shook his head. 'Not really. Just the dorm monitor, but they don't really care.'

I nodded. 'Is there any of that pizza, do you think?'

Sherlock frowned. 'You're on the football team right? You should probably diet or something. Apparently junk food – like pizza – is bad on the training side of things.'

I sighed sadly, taking another bagel. 'True. These are pretty good too though.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Of course. When did you want to go to town?' he asked.

'Whenever I guess.'

Sherlock stood up from the table and dropped his apple core in the bin beside us. 'I'll need to get a few things from our room then. Do you want to wait here?'

'I need my wallet.' I replied standing.

We went back up to our dorm and collected the items we needed. For me, it was just a jacket and my wallet, whereas Sherlock took nearly five minutes in his room. Eventually he emerged in a dark jacket.

He looked suspiciously at me. 'What?'

I shrugged. 'You took a long time.'

'So?'

I raised my hands in apology. 'No reason.'

'Good.' He strode from the room and waited impatiently for me to lock the door.

We walked down to the town in an awkward silence. I tried a few times to make conversation, but gave up after Sherlock shot me down with short answers that I couldn't expand on. My eyes involuntarily widened when he pulled out a box of cigarettes and started smoking one, slowly blowing out clouds of smoke.

'Smoking is bad for you, you know.' I said looking straight ahead.

He laughed. 'Be glad I'm not doing it in our room. This is one of the only times I can smoke without the threat of my brother being called.'

'Does he not know you smoke?' I asked.

'He knows. He doesn't particularly like it either.' He stopped and looked accusingly at the cigarette. 'Bloody Mycroft. He switched them.'

'What do you mean?'

'This is low tar.' He dropped the cigarette on the concrete and crushed it under the sole of his converse. 'I need another pack.' He started walking again at a faster pace which nearly had me jogging.

When we arrived in the town, most of the student population of Axton had already beaten us there. The cafes were full and the shops looked like they had no room to move in them. Despite this, Sherlock went into a small convenience store and reappeared minutes later with two bottles of water, a pack of cigarettes and a tin of mints. He handed me one of the bottles and took a sip out of his own, while shoving the two boxes in his pocket.

'Do you want to look around?' he asked.

'Uh...' Now that I was here – along with the majority of Axton's older students – the idea wasn't so appetising.

'We can come back tomorrow if you want. Saturday is usually when this place is its fullest. People get themselves alcohol or find a party then get completely off their face. Sunday they're all in bed nursing hangovers.'

I nodded. 'Tomorrow sounds good.'

Sherlock turned around and started walking back to Axton. 'When we get back, I'll probably read, so you're going to need to find some way to entertain yourself, okay?'

'Okay. You're really not very sociable are you?' I realised what I'd just said. 'Shit, sorry. That was rude.'

'True though. Everyone is an idiot. I don't get along with them.' He took a cigarette out of his new box and lit it. 'That's better.' He tapped the ash off the end. 'Please stop trying to start conversation with me, John.'

'Sorry.'

'Stop saying sorry.'

'Sorry.'

Sherlock stopped walking again and looked at me curiously. 'John, are you okay?'

'Fine, why?'

Sherlock waited before answering. 'No reason.' He started walking again and ignored me the rest of the way back to Axton.


	7. Ignored

Sherlock and I had discovered that the only subjects we shared were History, English and Maths. He seemed completely disinterested in everything and already knew what we were being taught. Hardly any of the other students in our classes seemed to like him – only me, Molly and a few other people could even _tolerate_ him, but he only ever chose to work with Molly or myself if he was forced to do a group project in an actual _group_, as opposed to by himself_. _When we went back to our dorm room, it felt like Sherlock was ignoring me. In my first few days, he had been okay and had talked to me, but now he seemed disinterested in me as well. He went straight to his room and shut his door, barely even surfacing for meals. If I woke up in the middle of the night, he was playing violin.

Once, in my third week at Axton, Sherlock completely disappeared for a couple of days. When I texted him, Sherlock just said he was "taking care" of a few things. He burst into our room at 3am on Saturday morning looking calm and collected. After striding into my bedroom and turning my light on, he announced his arrival to me, looking quite pleased with himself. Sherlock tried to start up a conversation with me, seemingly oblivious to the time. I attempted several times to politely get him out of my room and leave me to sleep, but I lost my patience and threw a shoe from beside my bed at him, which he narrowly avoided. The next day, he was back to ignoring me, but in a more cheerful manner, which confused me slightly.

After telling Molly of this latest development, she looked a bit worried but told me everything was fine. I had a feeling that despite Sherlock telling me that Molly was just "an acquaintance", that she knew more than he was letting on. She seemed to know more what was going on in his brain than anyone, and even that was barely anything.

A few more days later, I was fed up with Sherlock's behaviour. I wasn't used to being ignored. He arrived back at the dorm a couple of minutes after me when lessons had finished. As usual, he made a beeline for his room. I stood to block his entrance.

'No, we're going to talk. Sit.'

'Why are we suddenly back on speaking terms?' he asked suspiciously, dropping into his chair.

'I wasn't aware we _weren't_ on speaking terms.' I replied, sitting in my chair. 'Now, are you going to tell me why you're avoiding me?'

'I'm not-'

'Liar.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'So what if I am avoiding you?'

'You are avoiding me?' I couldn't stop the hurt from entering my voice. 'I want to know why.'

He stood, sighing. 'It doesn't matter. Nothing would change if I told you.' Then almost too quietly for me to hear, he added: 'That would just make it awkward.'

'How would it be awkward?'

Suddenly Sherlock was right up in my face, mere inches away from me. 'You want to know why it would be awkward?' he breathed.

'Yes.' I replied, unconsciously leaning towards him. His scent was intoxicating – it made me slightly dizzy.

He chuckled, moving away. 'Too bad.' He darted into his room and shut the door, leaving me sitting in the living room, close to hyperventilation.

As the next few days passed, Sherlock started ignoring me again – in our room and in class. The first chance I had to corner him turned out to be the Sunday of my sixth week at Axton – nearly two weeks after Sherlock admitted he was avoiding me. I had just come out of my bedroom and Sherlock was coming out of the bathroom after just having had a shower. I was texting my Mum, to let her know how things were going, so I walked directly into Sherlock, whose mind seemed to be in a completely different place as well.

'Crap.' I looked up. 'Oh, hey. Can we talk?'

'John, I don't know if you'd noticed, but I'm in a towel. Can it wait until I'm dressed?' he stepped around me and went into his room.

'Sherlock, it _is_ actually possible to get dressed in the bathroom, you know.' I called after him.

A few minutes later, he resurfaced in a long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. His hair was still wet from the shower, and little drops of water were falling on his top. 'How can I help you, John?'

'Why are you avoiding me again? And don't avoid the question.' I added as he rolled his eyes.

'It's better if I'm left to deal with it alone.'

'I don't see why you won't just tell me.'

He ran a hand through his hair. 'You would not want to know. Trust me.'

'If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked.' I replied firmly.

Sherlock sat forward in his chair and studied me. His eyes ran over me quickly and I could tell he was trying to distract me again.

'Oh no. We are _not _doing this again! Last time you-'

'John, are you gay?' he asked, tilting his head.

I stared at him for a few seconds in silence. Eventually I managed to squeak 'What?'

'You heard.' He tilted his head the other way.

_Craaaaaaaaaap. _'How-'

'So you are?' After a bit more of my stunned silence, Sherlock smiled. 'You might want to breathe.'

I exhaled and took a few deep breaths, staring at him accusingly. That smile was driving me insane. 'Wipe the smile off your face. Is that why you've been ignoring me?'

'Not exactly.' He leant back. 'Why did you seem disappointed when I told you Molly didn't fancy you romantically?'

'Normality?' My brain had started to function slightly better. I still couldn't believe he had gotten that. Then again, I really could.

'Normality... Huh. Want to know why I've been ignoring you for the past few weeks?' he got up and started pacing. 'Keeping in mind what I've now put out in the open for you.'

'With that in mind, do I want to know?' I cringed.

'You _have _been wanting to know why for a while now though, haven't you? And now with me acknowledging your sexuality, you suddenly don't want to know because you're scared of what I might say?' He raised his dark eyebrows and watched my expression. 'Tell me I'm wrong.'

I frowned, processing what he had just said to me. 'I think I might know what you're trying to say.'

'Oh really?' He stood in front of my chair, leaning his face towards me.

'Yes.' I inhaled deeply. Sherlock smelt like apple and honey with the faint bitterness of smoke.

'And how do you _feel _about that, John?' he breathed.

'I'm good with it.'

He chuckled. 'You're pathetic, you know that?'

'How am I pathetic?' I asked.

'I'm only standing in front of you and you're practically drooling.' He moved to sit back in his chair. 'Pathetic.'

'You suck.' I huffed.

'Apparently so do you.' He grinned.

My jaw dropped. 'Shut up! Don't say that!'

Sherlock shrugged. 'You still haven't denied it.'

'Well I can't deny it, can I?'

'You tell me. I don't know.' He seemed to be enjoying this.

'You always know everything.' I replied, crossing my arms.

'Not always. But this... This I knew.' He swung around in his chair to put his head on the armrest. 'What do you want to do about it?'

'About what?' I mentally slapped myself. Idiot. 'Ah. Wait up, you said you didn't act on it!'

Sherlock turned his head. He was still grinning. 'I lied. Besides, it's difficult to sustain a relationship when you go to a boarding school and end up not only being the only gay guy at said boarding school, but also when everyone at said boarding school _hates _you.' His smile faded. 'So what do you want to do? Everything? Anything? Nothing?'

Sherlock watched me as I thought it over. 'Let's take it slowly okay?' I said, surprising not only Sherlock, but myself as well.

He nodded. 'Slowly it is.'


	8. Plans

Over the next few weeks, Sherlock and I did exactly as I asked – we took everything slow. Fortunately, he stopped ignoring me and we started talking again. We decided not to tell anyone about us, however I got the distinct feeling that Molly suspected something. This feeling was proven right when she cornered me on the way out of geography on a Friday afternoon in late November.

'John, can I ask you something?' she said quietly.

'Yeah, what is it?'

'You and Sherlock...' she whispered. 'Are you...'

I folded my arms. 'Why would you think that?'

She shrugged. 'You just seem different I guess. Both of you do.'

I didn't see the point in denying it, and Sherlock seemed to trust Molly, so I figured it was safe. 'You can't tell anyone, okay?' I whispered back to her.

Molly grinned. 'I won't. Promise.' She replied, darting off to her dorm room.

I went back to my own dorm room and waited for Sherlock. I knew he had chemistry last, which was the class he had furthest from the dorm, so he usually took nearly ten minutes to get back, even with his stride. I decided to get changed and, despite having until after Christmas to finish it, make a start on the English essay we had been given for homework – the themes of 'Romeo and Juliet'. My page was still blank and I had barely anything planned, so I gave up for a while and checked my emails. The usual from my parents again, and one unexpected email from my sister, Harriet. Apparently she was taking a break from her relationship with her girlfriend, Clara, and was going to France for the weekend.

I was halfway through replying to her email when the door opened and Sherlock walked in. He went straight past me and directly into his room and reappeared a couple of minutes after changing from his uniform.

'Afternoon, John.' He smiled, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. 'How was your day?' he sat in his usual chair and put his head over the arm.

'You saw me two hours ago, Sherlock. Not much has changed since.' I replied looking at him disapprovingly over my laptop.

'What's wrong?' he asked, frowning.

'Nothing.' I sighed and hit the send button on my email. 'Molly knows.' I shut the laptop and returned it to my room.

'Knows what?' Realisation crossed his features. 'Ah... Of course. About us.'

I nodded. 'Yeah. Before you ask, I didn't tell her. She guessed and I didn't think there was any reason to deny it.'

'Okay then. What do you want to do tomorrow? We could just walk to town. The shops will be crowded, as usual on Saturdays.'

'Well you probably want to smoke, so I suppose we could walk to town if you want.'

'Good. I need a new pack.' He smiled. 'Oh. I have a two things to ask you.'

'Go ahead. You can ask me anything.'

'So it's heading into December, which means Christmas. What are your plans?' Sherlock asked.

'That depends. What are your plans?'

'I usually stay here. My parents always go off to Spain or Italy for Christmas, which leaves me and Mycroft together. Something I try to avoid.'

'Oh. Well I was planning to go home for Christmas. You could probably come with me if you want.'

Sherlock smiled. 'I would. Mycroft has decided he wants me to go stay with him in London whether I like it or not. I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me.'

I thought about it for a few seconds. 'What if we compromise?'

'I'm open to suggestions.' He replied, stretching out on the chair.

'My parents want me home, your brother wants you home, and let's face it – there is _no _way that I'm going to be away from you for a week – so what if we go half and half?'

Sherlock looked at me strangely from on his chair. 'You want to go and stay with my brother.'

I shook my head. 'No, I want to stay with _you_. If your brother comes with that, I'll just have to grin and bear it. Besides, I've never met him, and Molly says he's not too bad, so what's the harm?'

Sherlock pulled his phone out and sent a quick text. 'Are you sure your parents would be happy for me to come home with you?'

I nodded. 'They always used to complain how I never had friends over, so with that in mind, they'd probably be overjoyed.'

Sherlock chuckled and his phone went off. 'Mycroft! What a pleasure. I take it you got my text then?' He paused to allow Mycroft to speak. 'Of course. I'm sure my friend would be perfectly fine with that.' Another pause. 'I'll let you know when he has spoken to his parents. Farewell, brother.'

He hung up.

'Mycroft is happy for you to accompany me back to London for a few days, as soon as you've sorted everything with your parents.'

I nodded. 'I'll call them now then.' I replied, picking my phone up off the table beside me.

I scrolled through my contacts list, found _Home_ and pressed the dial button.

The phone picked up on the fourth ring. 'Hello?'

'Hey, Harry.'

'John! How are you? Did you get my email?' She asked.

'I did, and I'm fine. My reply should be in your inbox. Is Mum or Dad there?'

'Yup. I'll give you to Mum.'

I heard the phone change hands. 'Hello, John?'

'Hi, Mum.'

'John!' she said happily. 'You haven't called for a while. Is everything okay?'

'Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine.' I replied dismissively. 'I wanted to ask you something.'

'Anything, darling.'

'Is it alright if I bring a friend home for Christmas?' I asked, cringing slightly.

'Of course! Is it a special friend? A girl? Oh, John, are you bringing your girlfriend home for Christmas?' she squealed in delight.

I sighed. 'No, Mum. I'm not bringing my girlfriend home for Christmas.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Am I not your girlfriend? I'm _hurt_, John.' He grinned.

_Shut up! _I mouthed at him.

'Not a girl?' I could hear slight disappointment in her voice. 'Who then?'

'Ah... His name is Sherlock.' I rubbed the back of my head nervously.

'His? A boy?' There was a pause. 'Well that's okay too I suppose.'

'Is that a yes?' I asked hopefully.

'Yes, you can.'

'Great. One more thing.'

'Yes?' I could hear she was still slightly disappointed.

'Sherlock needs to go home to see his brother for a few days, so could I go to London with him?'

There was silence on the other end of the line while she thought it over. 'You can go to London on _one _condition. You have Christmas at home. Agreed?'

'One second.' I covered the mouthpiece and spoke to Sherlock. 'Is Christmas at mine okay? Otherwise no London for me.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Fine by me.'

I grinned and spoke to my Mother again. 'Christmas at home. That's good with Sherlock. I'll email you the exact details so you don't worry. Okay, Mum?'

'Okay, darling. I'll see you soon. Love you!'

'Yeah, love you too, Mum. Bye.' I said, hanging up. 'That was tedious.' I smiled, turning back to Sherlock, who was sending another text – presumably to Mycroft.

'Now for my other question.' He said, looking back to me.

'Oh right. You had two. Yeah?'

Sherlock grinned. 'What do you want for Christmas?'

After a few more discussions, it was agreed between Sherlock and myself that his brother would send a car to get us from school. We would spend three days in London with him, and on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, we would get a cab from his house to mine and spend four days there, including Christmas.

On Saturday, we walked to town as we had planned, and found the shops and cafes full of students, as we had predicted. Sherlock bought himself a new box of cigarettes from the small convenience store, and we walked back to school.

We walked through the empty campus, discussing our plans and subconsciously moving closer and closer together.

As we entered our dorm room, Sherlock threw his jacket onto his desk chair and faced me. 'John, we need to talk.'

'Is something wrong?' I asked, confused.

He laughed. 'Slightly.' He kicked the door shut and locked it, before taking my jacket off me and throwing it into my room. 'You said, when we first started dating, that we would take it slow, yes?'

'Yeah... I thought you didn't have a problem with that?'

He shook his head. 'At the time, I didn't. But now... John, we're moving slower than the speed of evolution.'

'And by that you mean _really_ slow?' I suggested.

He nodded. 'Unbearably slow.' He moved towards me. 'You're driving me insane.'

'Sorry.' I grinned, filling the space between us.

He chuckled and crushed his mouth against mine. Instinctively, I wound my fingers through his dark curls, locking us in place. After a few moments, he broke away.

'You've been holding out on me.' He said, raising an eyebrow.

'Not my fault.' I replied as he went back for a second kiss.

'No it is.' He untangled my fingers from his hair. 'You said slow. We went slow. Your fault.' He went into his bedroom for reasons unknown, and I followed.

'You could've done this sooner.' I replied.

'Oh really?' He grabbed me by the waist and pushed me against the footboard of his bed. 'So could you.'

'Shut up.' I pulled myself up onto the footboard and balanced myself by subconsciously wrapping my legs around his waist.

Sherlock smiled and started peppering my face and neck with small kisses. He leaned forward and I leaned backwards to allow him in. Unfortunately, this caused me to lose balance.

'Fuck, Sherlock!' I yelped as I fell back onto his bed, and he fell on top of me.

'Nice going, John.' He hauled himself to the side of me, and started laughing. 'That was really smooth.'

'What was?' I asked, slightly breathless.

'Your subtle way of getting me into bed.' He replied, still laughing.

I whacked his shoulder. 'Stop it.'

'I'm sorry.' He kissed my forehead and lingered there for a second. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent. Suddenly, it was gone. Why did that always happen? 'You're still pathetic though.' He said grinning at the frown on my face.

'Shut up.' I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face in his covers.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. 'Are you there? It's Molly.'

Sherlock pushed me off his bed. 'Get up.' He hissed. 'Coming, Molly.' He called, walking to unlock the door. I followed him and stood cautiously in the doorway to the living room.

'Hey, Molly. How can we help?' Sherlock asked.

'I hope I'm not interrupting anything.' She whispered. 'I just wanted to come and say goodbye. I'm leaving to go home for Christmas tomorrow morning, and now is probably the last chance I'll get to see you for a while.' She explained. 'Can I come in?'

'Of course.' Sherlock opened the door to allow her in. 'Excuse our um... Appearances...' he said shutting the door again.

'Oh God, sorry. I was interrupting something. I'll make this quick and let you get back to it.' She said, her voice lilting up, making her statement sound like a question.

'No need. We were finished.' Sherlock replied, straightening his shirt. 'John – go to the bathroom. Mirror. You'll thank me later.' He grinned.

Confused, I did as he told me, and was greeted with the sight of a face red enough to rival a tomato, and messy hair. 'Oh _shiiiit_.' I said loudly.

I quickly flattened my hair, and put a damp towel on my face to rid it of the redness. I also straightened my clothes out and walked quickly back to the living room. 'Sorry 'bout that, Molly.' I said, embarrassed.

'It's no problem. I'm fine with it, remember?' she smiled, and handed me a parcel. 'Merry Christmas, John.'

'Oh... Thank you. I didn't get you anything...'

Molly waved her hand dismissively. 'It's okay. It's just something small.' She handed a similar sized parcel to Sherlock. 'Merry Christmas, Sherlock.'

We unwrapped the presents quickly: I had a large stripy jumper (red and green – very festive) with little reindeers on it, and Sherlock had a similarly styled jumper, but in light blue and white with little snowmen on it.

'Thank you, Molly. I got you something actually.' Sherlock handed me his jumper and went into his room, reappearing with a large box, covered in shimmery white paper with a large green bow on it. 'I didn't wrap it, before you ask. The shop assistant did, and was determined to put the bow on top. Consider it from John as well as myself.' He smiled, passing it to her.

'Thanks, Sherlock.' She untied the bow and pulled the lid off the box. 'No way!' her jaw dropped and she took out a pair of shoes – simple black heels with small bows on the back. 'How did...'

'I saw you admiring them a few times, and a couple of weeks ago I saw you trying them on. I went into the convenience store next to it for a few things, and when I came out, the shoes were still there but you weren't, so I bought them for you.' He shrugged as if it was no big deal. 'You were sick that week John, which is why you probably don't know what I'm talking about.' He said to me.

Molly threw herself at Sherlock. 'Thank you!' she squealed.

'It's okay. Just don't impale the heel into my head, please.'

She let him go and stepped back, attempting to regain her composure. 'Well. Yes. Thank you for that. I'll leave you to it. Merry Christmas, again. See you later!' She said, darting out the door.

Sherlock kicked the door closed and relocked it. 'And that, John, is why we lock the door.' He grinned.


	9. London

John was getting jittery. We were due to leave the next day, and he had gotten progressively impatient. The rest of Axton's student body seemed to have gotten into the Christmas spirit as well. There were the usual decorations in the halls, random patches of mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, and garlands on doors. John had taken it upon himself to decorate our room as well – we had a little tree in the living room, tinsel hanging around doorframes, and a small wreath of holly on the door.

John went to bed early, hoping that the faster he got to sleep, the faster we would be off to London. I wasn't quite as excited, and as usual, stayed up playing my violin. Eventually, however, I decided sleep would possibly be a good idea, so I went to bed – though I didn't end up sleeping.

I heard my phone go off on the mattress beside me around 1am. It was John.

_You still awake?_

_Of course. Come over. _I replied putting my phone on my nightstand.

A few moments later, I heard John shuffle into my room. 'Move over.' He said quietly.

'I'm already on the other side. Get in.'

I felt his weight sink the mattress down slightly and John move closer to where he thought I was. 'Where are you?' His voice was closer than I expected.

'Right in front of you.' I wrapped my arm around his shoulder. 'Why aren't you asleep?'

'Nervous I guess. Or excited. Either.' He yawned, leaning his head against my chest.

'You're meeting my brother later today. Not exactly something to be excited about.'

'Let's go with nervous then.' He said sleepily.

I chuckled. 'Already falling asleep.'

'Mm, you're a good pillow.' Moments later, John was breathing deeply and snoring softly.

As promised, Mycroft had sent a car to retrieve John and myself, and fortunately, he had told the driver to get us directly from outside our dorm block – which saved us from hauling our suitcases over to the car park.

We got into the back seat and drove silently to London. 50 minutes later, we were pulling up outside my house. The familiar black door and white stone clad walls greeted me as I opened my door. I took my key out and unlocked the door before pulling my suitcase into the entry hall and helping John with his bag. I tipped the driver and shut the front door.

John looked around in awe. 'Wow.'

'Do you want to help me move our stuff?' I asked, interrupting his study of the room.

'Oh, yeah. Sorry.'

I picked my suitcase up. 'You have an important choice to make.'

'What would that be?' he replied, following me with his bag up the stairs.

'Do you want to use the guest room, or share mine?' I stopped at the first floor landing, waiting for his decision.

'Uh... Your room okay?'

I nodded. 'This way.' I turned down the hall and went directly to the end, where my room was. I pushed the door open and dumped my suitcase in front of my wardrobe. 'Put your bag wherever.'

He looked around. 'You weren't kidding. This bed is bigger than your one at school.' John grinned. 'Won't your brother be suspicious as to why I'm sleeping in your room?'

'Ah... Yeah. About that.' I ran my hand nervously through my hair. 'He kind of... knows.'

'About us?'

'Mhmm. He doesn't care though. Just don't be expecting a congratulatory handshake or something.'

John sighed. 'Damn. I was looking so forward to that.'

'Mycroft should be home soon. He told me he would leave work early. Not like that's good or anything.'

'Where's your bathroom?' John asked suddenly.

'Mine is through that door.' I said pointing.

While John darted into my bathroom, I went through my bag to find my cigarettes. I pulled one out of the box and lit it while I searched around for my ashtray. 'Bloody Mycroft!' I swore. He had taken it from my room to discourage my smoking apparently. 'Sorry, John. I'll be right back.' I told him as he came out of the bathroom.

I sprinted down the hall and into Mycroft's study. There it was – sitting on the corner of his desk. I picked it up and went swiftly back to my room. I put the ashtray back in its usual place on my nightstand.

'Ah, Sherlock? I think your front door just opened, or shut, or something.'

'Brilliant.' I stubbed out the cigarette. 'Come along, John.'

I went purposefully down the hallway and stopped halfway down the stairs. My brother was hanging up his coat and umbrella. 'Mycroft! How delightful to see you brother.'

'Sherlock. Welcome home. And you must be John.' He said, smiling towards John, who shoved me forwards down the stairs.

'Pleasure to meet you.' John put his hand out to shake with Mycroft.

'A pleasure indeed.' Mycroft replied, sounding intrigued. 'So you're with my brother are you?'

John looked quite taken aback at this rather forward question. 'Yeah, I suppose..?'

'That's nice, isn't it?' he smiled benignly. 'Care for a drink, John? Brandy? Scotch?' Mycroft turned his smile to me. 'I'm sure Sherlock hasn't started drinking already.'

I felt John's confused gaze on me, but I stared at Mycroft instead. 'You put a new lock on it, remember?'

'Ah, so I did. Surely you could have picked the lock?'

'Too much effort.' I replied, still ignoring John. 'Besides, you'd just replace it.'

'Indeed I would. Personally, I feel I might need a drink. Shall we talk in my study? I'll be right up.'

I stalked up the stairs, with John seemingly still confused. 'Sherlock, what just happened?'

I waited for him to catch up, pausing outside Mycroft's study. 'My brother just happened.' I opened the door and ushered him inside.

'You mean he's always like that?'

I nodded and dropped into one of the seats opposite the desk. 'Usually.'

'Is there actually a lock on your liquor cabinet?' John asked.

'Unfortunately. It was there when I returned from rehab last time.'

John frowned. 'What do you mean unfortunately?'

'You just met my brother. Figure it out, John.' I said moodily.

We sat in silence until Mycroft walked into the room. He sat at his desk, a glass on one side and a decanter of what appeared to be scotch at his other hand. 'So. John. Tell me about your relationship with my brother.'

John started turning rather red. 'I... um... What?'

'Mycroft, this isn't necessary.' I said quickly.

He shot me a look – _We'll talk later_. 'How about you tell me about yourself instead then, John. What are your parents like?'

'My Dad is a lawyer and my Mum is a nurse.' John said simply.

Mycroft didn't seem satisfied with that answer, but left it and continued interrogating John – future ambitions, how well he was doing at school. Eventually, he turned on me.

'So, Sherlock. How are the habits treating you?' Mycroft asked, tilting his head curiously. 'Just so I'm prepared in case I need to send you back to rehab soon.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Haven't had a drink since I came out of rehab – expecting that to change while I'm here. Clean for a few weeks – three I think. Smoking a pack of twenty every week.'

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. 'Oh really? Doing better than you were. A pack a week too – that's a cut down from three a week, isn't it?'

While I was speaking, John's jaw had dropped. 'Sherlock... I think we'll be needing to talk later.' He stood and left. He had sounded hurt. Why – I had no idea.

'And how's school going? I haven't had a call from teachers complaining since you went back.' Mycroft continued.

'Tedious. Are we finished here?' I asked, standing. 'I have a few things to sort out with John if you don't mind.'

'Of course.' He took a sip of scotch. 'Go ahead.'

I left the study, and went down the hall to my bedroom. John was sitting on my bed looking slightly pale.

'Are you okay, John?' I asked, gently shutting the door.

'Not really.' His voice was quiet. 'We've been going out for nearly six weeks. You've been doing drugs?'

I nodded. 'Not very much though. Just enough to keep me relatively normal.' I sat beside him on the bed.

'You told me you stopped.'

'I never said that. It was only once, and you didn't notice, so I don't see how it matters. Besides, you knew I did them when we started this.'

John looked at me pleadingly. 'Tell me you don't have any with you.'

'No, I don't.' I put my arm around his shoulder. 'Don't worry, okay?'

He nodded. After a few minutes, he spoke again – louder this time. 'You used to smoke three packs a week?'

I smiled. 'Yeah. And that was a cut down after the first time I went to rehab.'

'How many did you smoke before then?'

I cringed. 'Two or three a day.'

'Packs?' he asked, looking up at me.

'Mm. Terribly inconvenient actually. Nicotine patches turned out to be quite handy.'

John sniggered. 'Well I'm glad you've stopped smoking so much. And drinking.'

'Well don't expect that to last.' I sighed. 'Mycroft is an utter arsehole.'

He laughed. 'I think I'll have fallen off the wagon with you.'

'I can almost guarantee you will have, yes.' I kissed him lightly on the forehead. 'Welcome to my life.'

About an hour later, Mycroft knocked on the door. 'Are you decent, brother?'

'Just let me pull some pants on.' I said sarcastically, unlocking the door. 'Yes, we're decent. What do you want?'

Mycroft opened the door slowly, obviously still expecting us to be half-naked. 'Seeing as it's your first night in London, do you want to go out for dinner?'

I looked to John. He shrugged. 'I had plans to take John out to my favourite place actually.'

Mycroft smiled. 'Brilliant. I'll go book us a table for three shall I? 7pm work for you?' He checked his watch. 'That gives you a little over four hours to get ready. See you later.' I watched Mycroft as he disappeared down the hall, a little bounce in his step.

'I think your brother just gate crashed our plans. Like he didn't just _crash _the plans – he bought a demolition crew along and they _tore_ _down _the gate.' John said from behind me. I felt his arms snake around my waist and a head on my shoulder. 'We have four hours. What do you want to do?'

I shut my door and relocked it, turning to face John. 'I'm open to suggestions.' I replied, crushing my mouth to his.

'Shit, Sherlock! We have an hour to get ready. I'll never be done in time.' John shook his head and got up from the bed.

'Well it's not my fault!' I replied. 'You started it.'

He frowned. 'Good point. Can I use your shower?'

I narrowed my eyes. 'How long will you be?'

'Ten minutes tops. But I'll need to do my hair after... And that will _possibly _take longer than ten.'

'You're such a girl. Fine. I'll make you a deal.'

'Mm?'

'You shower, and then while you're doing your hair, I'll shower, yes? Saves time and _I _won't be long.'

John sighed. 'True. Okay. I'll be fast then.'

'You better be, because I'll just come in after ten minutes.' I grinned. 'Go.'

While John was showering, I organised myself some clothes – dark jeans, the purple shirt I had worn on John's first day at Axton, and a pair of black converse. I lit another cigarette and stared out my window at nothing in particular. I heard the door open and someone clear their throat.

'Sherlock, why are you with John?' Mycroft asked bluntly. 'I see nothing there that could interest you.'

I turned to stare at him. He flinched under the weight of my gaze. 'Do not talk about that which you do not understand, Mycroft.' I turned back to the window. 'John makes me... Happy, I suppose.'

'Do you trust him?'

'Of course I _trust_ him. John knew about my _issues _from the first day, and he accepted it – which is more than what most people do. You included.' I blew out a cloud of smoke.

'Does he know _everything _that happened? Everything that _is _happening? Everything that inevitably _will?_'

'Mycroft, I do not intend to tell him that.' I said turning angrily back to him. 'It would not be healthy for either of us, or our relationship. And it is _our _relationship, Mycroft, so I would appreciate _you _getting the hell OUT of it!' I hissed.

Mycroft took a step back and raised his hands. 'Fine, fine. I'll keep out. Be ready soon.'

'We will be. And when have _you_ ever kept out of anything?'

I got no reply, instead Mycroft just left silently; shutting the door behind himself.

It was 6.30pm, and we were due to leave. John and I were ready, standing by the door. John had asked me what was wrong – obviously he could tell I was in a mood – and when I didn't explain, he dropped it. One of the things I loved about John. He didn't pry. Much.

After a few minutes, Mycroft finally walked down the stairs. 'The car is here.' He went straight past us, stopping only to grab his coat and umbrella, and to open the door. 'Shall we?'

John and I went out into the frosty air, and into the backseat of the waiting car. Mycroft sat in the seat next to the driver and we drove off to the restaurant.

When we arrived, the maître d' recognised me. 'Ah, Mr Holmes! We haven't had the pleasure of seeing you recently. How are you? The usual table? Yes, I see you booked here as a table for three. Right this way, sir.' He gestured into the dining area and walked off ahead of us.

'You come here often?' John asked me.

'Of course. Don't worry – they have brilliant pizza I hear.' I added, smiling at the look of relief on John's face.

'Here we are, Mr Holmes. I'll send a bottle of water here directly.' He bowed and left.

We sat down at the small table and I watched in amusement as John's face lit up at all the pizza options. Mycroft looked over the menu and immediately ordered a glass of wine. I knew what I was getting, so I sat silently observing the people around us. Two couples on first dates, a large group of people celebrating a birthday, two sets of married couples out for dinner, and a couple celebrating an anniversary.

The waitress came over to our table. 'Hi, my name is Melissa, and I'll be your waitress this evening. Can I take your order, or do you need a few more minutes?'

'I'll have a meatlovers pizza, and a coke to drink please.' John smiled.

'Of course. Anything else for you two?' She asked, looking to Mycroft and myself.

'The Caesar salad and an orange juice, thanks.' I replied, handing her my menu.

Mycroft looked up from his menu. 'I think I would like a Shrimp salad. And a bottle of the house red, if I may?'

'Sure. Would you like anything to start?' the waitress asked, scribbling orders down on her notepad.

'Basket of fries.' I decided, for John's sake. I knew he would need something to do to avoid conversation with Mycroft. 'Thank you.'

There was very little conversation after the waitress left, and less after she returned with our mains. John was looking pale again – but it was from the look Mycroft was giving him from across the table. Under the table, I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, and John gave me a faint smile in return. Despite John seemingly nervous at the prospect of being with Mycroft again, he managed to devour more than half of his pizza, with the remainder going in a box to take back to my house. Mycroft had over half the bottle of wine, and managed to stay quite sober. I finished my salad – having only ordered a small – and was tempted to finish off the rest of Mycroft's wine. After we had paid and returned to my house, John and myself retired to my room for the night – door locked, of course.

John gave a sigh of relief as he collapsed onto my bed. 'Thank God that's over.'

I went down beside him. 'I know. At least he'll be at work tomorrow.'

'So we'll be here alone? The whole day?'

I nodded. 'We will, yes.'

John grinned. 'Brilliant. Could we go out though? I need to get my family some things for Christmas.'

'Sure, we have time.'

John turned onto his side to look at me. 'Can I ask you something?'

'Of course. What is it?'

John paused. 'When I got out of the shower before, I heard you and Mycroft arguing outside the door. I heard him ask if you were going to tell me something, and you said no.' He frowned. 'Why can't I know what it was about?'

I groaned. 'You were eavesdropping.'

'Not on purpose.'

'John, people who eavesdrop often hear things they don't want to know.' I sighed. 'What he was talking about – it would do more harm than good. One of the things would at least. It's not important.'

'Sherlock, you can tell me anything.' He said, putting his hand on my cheek. 'You know that right? I won't judge you.'

'Yeah, I know. It's not important. Don't worry. It's behind me.'

'Sherlock... You can tell me.'

I sighed, weighing up my options. After a few minutes, I decided to tell him one of the things Mycroft was talking about. 'What happened... When I was about 13 – nearly 14, and it became known that I was gay... Some boys decided they didn't want someone like _me _in their school. They took it upon themselves to do something about it.' I paused to gauge John's reaction so far. His face was calm, so I continued. 'In the junior school, they have bunkrooms, and shared bathrooms, right? One night, I went to take a shower, and when I got there, about eight other boys had gathered there already.' My voice went quiet. 'They took me by surprise and grabbed me, then a gag was shoved in my mouth. Two of them guarded the door, while a few of them held me down and the others beat me – kicking and punching me.' I stopped again to look at John. His expression was heading towards tortured, and I could see his eyes filling up. 'No one heard me, and if they did, they didn't do anything about it. After nearly an hour, they finished. The boys left me, lying on the tiles, bleeding. I barely managed to pull the gag from my mouth so I could breathe better. Then, suddenly, the door opened. I didn't see who it was because I was facing away from it. I remember hearing a sharp intake of breath and someone saying, "Oh, sorry. Wrong bathroom." But then she noticed the blood and came to check me for a pulse. The girl took my arm and found my pulse – weak, but still there. She ran off and about five minutes later, I was surrounded by teachers.' I saw a tear streak down John's face. 'And that was how I met Molly.'

'Molly saved your life.' John said in a small, weak voice.

'Yeah. She did.'

'How bad were you hurt?' John asked after a small pause.

'Sure you want to know?' I asked, hugging him to me.

I felt his head nod against my chest. 'My nose was broken, I had a fractured eye socket, broken arm, three broken and two bruised ribs, fractured shin. They also fractured one of my vertebrae, a femur, dislocated and fractured my jaw and caused internal bleeding. I was in hospital for nearly a month.' I felt John sob. 'Needless to say, those who took part were expelled – apart from the two who stood guard. They got suspended for six weeks.'

'And was that when you got into drugs and alcohol and smoking?'

'That was when I started going overboard with all that.'

John looked up to me. 'But Molly saved your life.'

I nodded. 'And I will always thank her for that.'

John pulled out his phone and sent a text.

'Who was that to?' I asked.

'Molly.' John smiled weakly. 'I had to thank her.' A few seconds later, he got a reply.

'What did she say?'

In response he showed me the text.

_You don't need to thank me – but you're welcome. I always hoped that he would find someone who could love him, flaws and all. I'm so glad he has. Thank you, John, for saving him in a way I couldn't._

I hugged John tighter to me, and kissed him lightly. 'I agree with that last part. Thank you, John.'

'You don't need to thank me. I love loving you.' He said quietly.

The next day, when John and I left to go Christmas shopping – very late Christmas shopping at that – Mycroft had already left, which spared us from any awkward conversations. I could tell Mycroft didn't understand our relationship, but accepted it anyway because it seemed to be keeping me out of too much trouble.

John and I went around London collecting small presents for his family, and when we returned, John had his leftover pizza from last night. He tried to convince me to have some – apparently it tasted just as good if not _better _than it did last night – but failed, as I chose to have an apple instead.

After eating, John went off exploring my house. He went so silently that I didn't notice for about five minutes. Eventually I found him standing in the library – one of my favourite rooms when I was at home.

He turned around, hearing me enter. 'Oh, hey. I um... I just went to look around. I've only seen your room, the kitchen and the study.' He explained, going a bit red.

'It's fine. Had you told me, I would have given you a tour.' I smiled. 'When I'm home, this is where I spend most of my time. My parents and Mycroft tend not to come in here, seeing as I leave it in a mess.' I gestured to the piles of books and paper, all where I left them.

'How long is Mycroft going to be at work for?' John asked suddenly.

'Hmm... Until about six? Then it takes him half an hour to get home, so he'll be back about 6.30 I guess.' I looked suspiciously at him. 'Why?'

John smiled innocently at me. 'Well tomorrow we're going to my parents' house, which means no PDA and very little time to have things going on behind closed doors.' He sidled up to me. 'Do you get my meaning?' He kissed me experimentally.

'Yes... I get what you mean.' I replied, kissing him back.

After nearly half an hour of making out in the library, John sighed. 'We should probably repack for tomorrow, shouldn't we?'

'You're rather organised, aren't you?' I chuckled.

'Well I do have to try and fit more stuff in my suitcase now.' He got up and straightened his clothes before exiting the room.

'John,' I called after him. 'You're spectacularly red, you know that right?'

'Shut up, Sherlock!'

I laughed and got up, tidying the room a bit. Not that anyone was likely to come in here after I left or before I returned.

I went up to my room to find John staring miserably at his suitcase. 'It won't fit.'

'I could have told you that. Let me.' After a few minutes of refolding clothes and reorganising a few other things in his bag, I had everything fitting.

'Huh... Thank you.' John smiled.

'You're welcome, I suppose. I'm going to get an apple. Do you want anything?' I asked him.

'Yes... But not food.' John said awkwardly.

'That's a first.' I paused at the door. 'What do you want then?'

He walked slowly towards me, then spoke so quietly I almost missed it. 'You.'

'Me?' I asked confused. 'You have me, John – I'm yours.'

He shook his head. 'No... I _want _you, Sherlock.'

Shock coursed through me. No. No, no, no. I took a step backwards out the door. 'I...' I faltered.

John stopped and his lower lip trembled. 'You don't want me?'

I shut my eyes and rubbed my hair. 'I do, but not now.'

'So that's a no?' I could hear the hurt in his voice.

'I'm sorry, John.' I said, running down the stairs.

I heard him come down after me. 'Sherlock, wait.'

I grabbed my coat off the stand, thankful I had left my shoes on after going out this morning, and went outside into the chilly air.

When I returned about two and a half hours later, having gone through the rest of my box of cigarettes, as well as an extra box and the start of a third, I found John lying on my bed, face down in the covers.

'John?' I asked softly.

He twitched at the sound of my voice. 'Go away.'

'John, this is my house.' I replied, walking slowly towards him.

'Go away.'

I rolled my eyes and sat beside him on the bed. 'What's wrong?'

'You don't want me.' He said, face still embedded in the covers.

'I don't think now is a good time, John.'

His face appeared, eyes red. 'Why not.'

I sighed. 'Because I say so. Be moody all you like, but you aren't going to change my mind.' I stood and left, pausing in the hallway to call back to him. 'I'll be in the kitchen.'

While I sat at the small table in the kitchen with my feet up on an extra chair, eating an apple, John walked in. He sat opposite me and put his head in his hands. 'I'm sorry.'

I shrugged, taking another bite of the apple.

'I shouldn't have been so upset about it, because it involves you too, and you are entitled to a choice.' He continued.

I shrugged again, crunching on my apple.

'Are you going to say ANYTHING?' John asked.

'I'm eating.' I said, waving my apple pointedly in his face. 'Besides, what do you want me to say?'

'I don't know what I want you to say, Sherlock. I was hoping you'd think of that yourself.' He replied snappily.

'I'm not going to apologise for my actions, John.'

He frowned. 'Fine. Don't apologise.'

'I won't. As you said, it's my choice too.' I took another bite of the apple.

John got up angrily and stormed out the doorway, leaving me to my apple in peace.

When Mycroft arrived home from work, John was still up in my room, and I had taken up residency in the library. We hadn't talked since the incident in the kitchen, and I wasn't looking forward to dinner. Mycroft would know something was up between John and myself and that would make it even more difficult to be around him. I was right – I would definitely be drinking tonight.

Dinner was served at about 7pm. I didn't know what it was, having not paid attention when Mycroft told me. I ate it without tasting, and had three glasses of wine before desert. Mycroft watched with amusement as John and I didn't talk to each other.

John kept his eyes fixed on his plate – probably wishing it was pizza – and accepted a glass of wine when it was offered to him. I knew John didn't drink, so I watched his face as he tasted the wine. His face crumpled slightly at the taste, but he swallowed and continued eating.

When dinner was finished, I took my glass and a near full bottle of wine up to my room. John arrived a few minutes after I did, and blushed when he saw me already stretched out on the bed.

'Do you want me to leave?' It was the first thing he had said after storming out of the kitchen earlier that afternoon.

I shook my head. 'Why would you need to leave?'

John sighed, still standing by the door. 'Things are a bit tense between us.'

I rolled my eyes. 'I've said all I have to say. Things are only tense because you still feel rejected. I explained why that is _not _going to happen right now. If you don't like it, feel free to leave. I'm happy to sit here and drink this wine all by myself.' I downed the rest of my glass and refilled it. 'Are you going to stay?'

John shut the door. 'I suppose. I'm sorry for how I acted.'

I shrugged. 'Don't worry about it. Wine?' I asked, offering him the bottle.

He shook his head. 'I'll pass. I don't know how you can drink that stuff.'

'Practice.' I replied drinking half of the glass. 'Besides, when you live with Mycroft, you can't afford not to drink.'

John laughed. 'Yeah, I get that.' He sat on the bed. 'You're going to have a nasty hangover tomorrow.'

'Don't remind me.' I put my glass down beside the bed.

'How are you not drunk yet?' John asked.

'Practice.' I said again.

'You often drink nearly an entire bottle of wine by yourself?'

'I wouldn't say _often_...'

'Mm. Right.' John said lying down. 'At least tomorrow we're leaving.'

'I'll drink to that.' I grinned.


	10. The Watsons

I was already up when Mycroft left for work. He came into the kitchen, not looking at all surprised to see me there.

'Morning, Sherlock.' He said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

'Morning.'

'How are things with you and John? Because yes, I noticed yesterday.'

I sighed, rubbing my hand through my hair. 'Things were a bit tense. They still are. John is just... Overreacting.'

'Overreacting...' He mused. 'Well believe it or not, I hope things get better between you two. I might not understand your relationship, but I appreciate what he's doing for you.'

'Me too.'

'I should be off. Don't forget your manners at the Watsons, and be good at school. I'll be in touch.' He said, exiting the kitchen.

John woke up around 10am. We were due to leave for his house at 3pm, so we still had a fair bit of time to kill before we needed to leave. John and I were talking again after yesterday's... Disagreement, but things were still a bit awkward between us.

When John came downstairs, his hair was ruffled, and he looked like death warmed up. 'Hey, Sherlock. How are you?'

'Not feeling the effects of my drinking as much as I should be. Are you okay?'

'I feel fine, why?'

'You look horrible.' I took a bite of a fresh apple from the bowl on the table.

'Are you ever not eating apples?' John sighed. 'And thanks, by the way. I should probably have a shower.'

I shrugged. 'If you feel like it. I had one while you were still sleeping.'

'I think I'll go do that then.' John yawned, leaving the kitchen.

'John, wait.' I called, putting my apple on the table and going out after him. 'I'm sorry. About yesterday.'

He smiled faintly. 'It's okay I guess.'

'Are you sure you're okay with it? Because if you don't want me to go home with you, I'll just stay here or go back to Axton early.'

'No, don't. I want you to come with me. Yesterday was just a small setback of sorts.' He gave me a light hug. 'I'm fine.'

'That's good.' I replied, kissing his hair. 'I don't want to hurt you, John. Ever.'

'Me too.' He mumbled.

I released John and stood back to let him pass. 'Go shower. We can leave early if you want. There's not much point in our staying here longer than necessary.'

John's face brightened. 'I'm good with that. I'll shower and text my Mum to tell her we'll be early.' He grinned. 'Go finish your apple.'

As soon as John had finished in the shower, I called us a cab and arranged it to pick us up 45 minutes later. John seemed ecstatic to be going home early, and was practically bouncing as we waited in the hall for the cab to arrive. When the cab did eventually arrive, we hauled our suitcases into the boot of the car and John climbed into the backseat and waited for me to lock the door. When I got into the car, John gave the driver the address, and we started off to John's house. It took us a little under an hour to get to John's house. When we arrived, I paid the driver and we retrieved our bags.

John's house was a simple two-storey house with a neat front garden and a 4x4 parked in front of the garage. The front door opened, and John's mother came down the driveway towards us. She was only just shorter than her son, with the same sandy hair and bright blue eyes.

'John!' she cried happily, enveloping him in a hug. 'It's so nice to see you after so long.' She looked to me. 'You must be Sherlock. Weren't you outside the principal's office when we dropped John off on his first day?' she asked.

'Yes, I was.' She had a good memory. When she left John at Axton, she had only cast me a very fleeting glance. 'Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Watson.'

'Penelope, please. Shall we go inside?' She smiled, putting her arm around John. She steered him up the driveway, and I could hear her talking quietly to John.

Why was he outside the principal's office, John? Is Sherlock a teenage delinquent?'

John laughed. Probably trying to think of a response to my being a "teenage delinquent". 'No, no. He had just been out of the country visiting family. He needed to meet with the principal to announce his arrival back.' He invented madly.

'That's okay I suppose.' Penelope decided, ushering him into the house. 'Sherlock, if you'll follow John, he'll take you up to his room. I hope you don't mind sharing his room? His grandparents are staying with us in the guest room.'

'Of course. That's perfectly fine.' I smiled, lifting my bag inside and following John upstairs.

He walked along the hallway, past a closed door that had been painted black and had heavy metal music playing behind it. John stopped outside a door with no adornments and pushed it open.

Inside John's room, there were still moving boxes piled around the edges and the walls were blank. Everything was perfectly tidy – probably because of the lack of objects in the room. A desk and chair, and a modest double bed, as well as a set of drawers beside a wardrobe that had been built into the wall.

'You can put your suitcase where you want. It won't make much difference to the overall state of my room.' He smiled.

'I heard what you told your mum about me. That I was out of the country visiting family.' I nodded approvingly. 'Very creative. Why didn't you tell her the truth though? You know I don't care what people think of me.'

'I know you don't. I just don't want my parents to kick you out because of your "extra-curricular" activities.'

'That makes sense.' I paused and shut the door quietly. 'Your parents... They don't know, do they?'

John shook his head. 'No, and I'd like to keep it that way for a bit longer please.'

'Understood. Are supposed to go downstairs or something..?'

'Dunno. Maybe we should though.'

We were spared the decision by John's mother opening the door and coming inside. 'Do you want to come downstairs? Everyone is in the living room. Harriet even came out of her room.' She gestured grandly towards the stairs and went off ahead of us.

John stayed where he was for a few moments, watching his mother disappear before turning to me. 'I think they want us downstairs, Sherlock.'

Once we were downstairs in the living room, and I had been introduced to John's family, a silence came over the room. John and I sat awkwardly on a two-seater couch, squished in beside John's sister. After being handed glasses of water, John and I were interrogated – me more than him. He emailed his parents daily to keep them up to date with how he was, whereas, John asking his mother if I could stay for a few days was one of the only times they had heard of me.

The question started with an innocent: 'So Sherlock, John told me you had returned from travelling when we saw you in the principal's office. Where did you go?' from his mother.

'Italy.' I replied. 'My aunt and uncle were celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary.'

'That's nice. How are your grades in school?' she asked.

'I'm the school's top student. My grades are exemplary.'

'What do your parents do?' John's father asked, sitting forward.

'My father is a businessman and my mother... She doesn't do much, as such. She mainly breeds and trains horses.'

The questions continued after then – siblings, sport, ambitions and plans for the future. John's eyes widened slightly in alarm when his father reached the inevitable question: 'And do you have a girlfriend, Sherlock?'

I smiled faintly and cleared my throat. 'Ah, no.' I ran my hair through my hair.

'No girlfriend?' his father asked, frowning. 'Surely a strapping young lad such as yourself would be quite popular with the ladies.'

'No.' I laughed. From the corner of my eyes, I saw John's eyes widen slightly further and his hands begin to clasp and unclasp nervously.

'No? Is this a private joke I'm missing out on?' he asked, confused.

'Not a private joke, no.' I cleared my throat again. 'To be honest with you, I ah... I'm actually gay.'

'Oh really?' Mr Watson said, beginning to turn red. 'Well... Ah...'

He was saved from thinking of a reply by John's sister entering the conversation for the first time. 'Oh for God's sake, Dad.' She said, rolling her eyes. 'It's not like he's the only one in the house. I'm here too, remember?' she waved her hand in his face pointedly.

That particular aspect of the conversation ended with John's grandmother starting to tell what sounded like a long winded tale of how her friend, Maisy, walked backwards into a plant, ended up stuck in the pot, and the fire service needed to be called.

John and I excused ourselves to return up to his room. When we got there, John shut the door and looked worriedly at me. 'Do you think they know?' He whispered.

I shook my head. 'Your father seemed a bit stunned at first, your grandparents I don't think even _heard _what I said, your sister obviously couldn't care less, and your mother was in the kitchen making dinner.' I dropped onto his bed. 'Pretty sure you're the only suspicious one.'

The door unexpectedly opened, and Harriet slipped into the room, being sure to close the door after herself. She came and stood at the foot of the bed and stared at me. 'Are you screwing my brother?'

John looked furiously at me. 'You said she didn't know!'

I raised an eyebrow. 'No, I said she couldn't _care_ _less_. Besides, we were talking about me, not you.'

Harriet maintained eye contact with me, ignoring her brother. 'You didn't answer the question: Are you screwing my brother?'

I shook my head. 'No, I'm not. As much as-' I was cut off my John throwing a tissue box at my head.

'Sherlock!'

'As much as what?' she asked, again ignoring John.

'As much as he'd like that to change.' I finished.

Harriet turned her gaze to John. 'Really?' she said. 'I knew it!' she grinned triumphantly and sat in John's chair, flicking her dyed black hair over her shoulder. 'So you two are an item, but not _doing _anything ,as much as John wants to.'

John sighed and flopped onto his bed next to me, putting his face into his pillow. 'Kill me now. Please. That would be less painful.' He mumbled.

'So how long have you and my brother been together?' Harriet asked me, deciding she would get more from me than John.

I counted in my head. 'About six weeks.'

She nodded. 'So you and John haven't done anything?'

'Nope.' I said, shaking my head.

'Have you done anything with other people?' Apparently Harriet Watson wasn't afraid to ask the hard questions. John looked up to watch me as I answered.

After quickly running through possible scenarios, I decided tell the truth was probably best. 'I have, but it was only once and I was high, so don't worry about it, John.' I said quickly.

'You were high?' Harriet asked slowly.

_Oh shit._ 'Sorry, what?' I asked, pretending not to have heard her.

'You were high?' she repeated.

John moved his face slightly out of the pillow so I could understand him. 'Might as well just tell her. She won't care or tell.'

Taking John's word and hoping he was right, I did as he said. 'Yeah.'

'You do drugs?' Harriet tilted her head curiously. 'What do you do? Any other illegal substances you're exposing my brother to?'

'Yes, I do drugs. Class A substance is _all _I'm saying. As for illegal substances, smoking and drinking is not illegal.'

'You're underage!'

'My family doesn't care. Trust me, if you met my brother and lived in my head, you'd drink, smoke and do drugs as well.' I replied quietly. 'And for the record, I've only done drugs _once _since I've been with John.'

'That doesn't make it any better. Had you actually just come back from travelling when my parents saw you?'

I shook my head. 'I had just come out of my second time in rehab.'

'Rehab?'

'Mm. Needed to sort out my "problem" with the principal.' She seemed slightly confused, so I explained further. 'It was my second near-overdose in fourteen months.'

For the first time, Harriet looked close to shocked. 'How old are you?'

'Sixteen.'

'You've been doing drugs since you were fourteen?'

'After going through what I had, yes.'

'Explain.' She demanded. Apparently I wasn't giving enough detail of my personal life.

'Came out, people didn't like it, nearly got me killed, month in hospital. Then I went overboard in the illegal substances area of my life. Happy?'

'Satisfied is probably a better way to describe it.' She sat back in her chair. 'When you say "a month in hospital", you mean...'

'Internal bleeding. Broken nose and arm. Three broken and two bruised ribs. They fractured my eye socket, a femur, one of my vertebrae, a shin, as well as dislocating and fracturing my jaw.' I said.

Harriet stared at me. 'Holy shit. So by "nearly got me killed", you actually mean...'

'It nearly got me killed, yeah. If not for someone going into the wrong bathroom, I would probably be dead.'

She blinked. 'I really don't know what to say to that.'

I smiled faintly. 'No one really does.'

Harriet cleared her throat and stood to leave. 'Well, now that's been thoroughly discussed. John, I won't tell anyone, don't worry. Your secret is safe. And Sherlock,' she said, turning to me. 'If you ever hurt my brother, you answer to me. But please, when people start finding out about him, please, make sure what happened to you doesn't happen to him.'

I shook my head fiercely. 'Given what I've been through, do you think I would let it? If someone lays a _finger _on John in a way that I deem inappropriate, I will make them pay. But you don't need to worry about me hurting him. I would rather die than cause John pain.'

Harriet looked a bit taken aback by my proclamation. 'That's um... Extremely... Good to hear. Thank you.' She replied with a smile as she turned and left, closing the door behind herself.

Dinner with the Watsons was interesting. John's mother seemed to have been filled in on the conversation that had taken place in the living room while she was in the kitchen - I was being watched with a cautious look on her face. John's father kept shooting me rather unsubtle glances that were halfway between dirty looks and a weird sort of fascination. John was very quiet and somehow had mastered being both pale and red at the same time – if I was his father, I would be suspicious, but apparently Mr Watson was more interested in _me_ than the fact that his son was obviously hiding something. Harriet was eating her dinner with a knowing smirk fixed on her face, and was constantly glancing at the practically nonexistent space between John and me – as a result of there not being enough room at the table and our being squished along one side with John's grandmother – and barely managing not to burst into laughter. John's grandparents seemed completely oblivious to everything going on at the table, and were happily munching through plates piled high with extra beans, carrots and potatoes.

Mrs Watson was intent on making me eat seconds and thirds of everything, despite both John and myself explaining to her that I didn't eat much. She stacked slices of meat on my plate and created a small dam out of beans, carrots, potatoes and gravy. I told her I would be perfectly happy not eating anything, but she wouldn't hear of it. "Growing boys need their food. You can't tell me that you eat barely anything and still manage to function." She had replied, adding more carrots on to my plate, and pouring more gravy on the rest of the food.

John stifled a giggle and elbowed me in the ribs. 'Just eat it, Sherlock. She'll stop putting more on if you do.' He whispered.

I rolled my eyes and started eating - it was probably more food than I had eaten in the last month. However, what John said was true. Mrs Watson stopped adding food and smiled happily at me as I managed to eat everything on my plate.

After dinner was eventually done, John and I went upstairs again. I sat on the edge of his bed, rubbing my stomach. I felt like I was going to burst. 'Am I going to need to eat that much food the entire time I'm here?' I asked.

John nodded. 'Yup. And tomorrow is Christmas, so there'll be extra.' He paused thoughtfully, sitting beside me. 'Actually, I think a bit more of my family is coming around for lunch. Maybe not. Christmas Eve is always a dry-run for Christmas dinner.'

'Speaking of Christmas,' I said standing. 'Do you want your present?'

'You got me a present?'

'Well, after we had our... disagreement the other day and I went out - I decided I should probably put that time to use... So yeah. I did.' I grinned. 'Do you want it now, or tomorrow?'

John shrugged. 'I don't mind.'

Taking that as a yes, I went to my suitcase and rummaged around in it, looking for the parcel. 'Here.' I pulled it out from under a few shirts and handed it to John. 'Merry Christmas.'

John's eyes widened at the sight of the large, flat package. 'Thank you.' He tore the wrapping off and unfolded the jacket – green with brass buttons.

'That time we were walking back from the village on a Saturday, and it started raining, you complained about not having a good raincoat.' I explained. 'It's not exactly a raincoat, but it is waterproof, apparently.'

John grinned. 'I like it. A lot. Thank you. Do you want yours?'

I shrugged, and repeated his words to me. 'I don't mind.'

John went over to his desk and went straight to where he had my present. He returned with a small red box, which he handed to me. 'Merry Christmas, Sherlock.'

I pulled the lid off and laughed at the contents. A new silver lighter and a box of cigarettes. 'Thanks, John.'

He grinned. 'Your lighter is dying a bit, so I thought I'd get you a new one. And something for you to use it on.'

'It's brilliant. Thank you.'

I stood and he wrapped his arms around my neck. I leaned down to kiss him, and after a few moments, I felt his fingers tangle themselves in my hair. I could feel him smiling against my lips.

Suddenly, the door opened without warning. 'Mum wants-' Harriet stopped in the doorway and saw John and myself. She looked at us both as we casually disentangled and stepped away from each other, straightening our clothes. 'John, you have a lock. Start using it. Next time, it might not be _me_ walking in on you with your tongues down each other's throats.' She hissed. 'Mum wants you two downstairs to do the dishes. Unless you're otherwise engaged. I could tell her you're a bit busy sucking face, but I don't know how well that would go down. Shall I go find out?'

'Ah, no. That won't be necessary.' John said quickly. 'Dishes, Sherlock. Let's go.' He walked on ahead of me, out past his sister.

As I passed her, she grabbed my arm, and whispered to me: 'I thought you said you _weren't _screwing my brother?'

'I'm not! You would know if I was.' I replied.

'Oh yeah? How? Would you just come out and say?' she whispered after me as I went halfway down the stairs.

'No,' I said with a perfectly straight face. 'He wouldn't be able to walk.'

When we woke up the next morning – lock on door as suggested by Harriet – John rolled onto my chest and kissed me lightly. 'Morning.'

'Morning.' I replied, kissing him back and putting my arm around his shoulders. 'Merry Christmas.'

'Mm. Merry Christmas.' He put his head on my shoulder. 'Today is going to be fun.'

'I don't doubt.'

'You'll be fine.' He said, absentmindedly stroking my stomach.

'I know.' I replied, tracing patterns on his arm with my thumb. 'As long as I have you, I can get through anything.'

John sighed happily. 'We should boycott Christmas.'

'Why?'

'Because this is all I wanted. This is perfect. We should stay here.'

'Maybe we should.' I kissed the top of his head.

'Really?'

'I'm only here because you are. Do what you want, because I'll follow.'

'You would?' he asked, and I could feel him smiling.

'I would follow you anywhere.' I replied sincerely.

'Oh Sherlock...' he sighed. 'You're perfect.'

'I always thought so, yes.'

'Way to kill the mood.' He tutted. 'You're perfect to _me._'

I chuckled. 'So are you.'

John looked up at me. 'You know what, Sherlock?'

'What?'

'I think...' he took a deep breath. 'I think I love you.'

I smiled. 'Just think?'

After a few moments, John shook his head. 'Know.'

'That's better.' I laughed. 'I love you too, John.'

As John had said, Christmas with his family was fun. While he and his family were exchanging presents downstairs, I was getting dressed and eating an apple, which I had brought with me from London. I decided to ignore everything festive – John and I were "boycotting" Christmas – and wear the purple shirt I knew he liked, in combination with my usual dark jeans and black converse.

John came into his room just as I was rolling the sleeves and taking the last bite off my apple core. 'Good haul this year.' I couldn't tell if that was sarcasm or not. He had a multitude of socks, a bottle of cologne, a silver hipflask and then a few slightly bizarre objects – a pink toothbrush holder, a pair of kitchen tongs and what looked to be a taxidermied mouse dressed as a sailor.

'Right.'

John laughed at my expression. 'Mum is starting on lunch soon. We have a few hours before then. What do you want to do?'

'Whatever you want.'

'How does a game of Cluedo sound?' Harriet asked from the doorway. 'You can't keep having secret little pashfests in here all the time.' She whispered. 'You need to show your faces.'

John looked at me. 'Cluedo?'

'Cluedo.' I agreed.

We followed Harriet to the dining room, where Cluedo was sitting on the table. After a few games of that, both John and Harriet gave up playing against me. I got the answers easily – first it was Connell Mustard in the study with the candlestick, then it was Professor Plum in the dining room with the axe. Seeing as neither of them thought they could beat me, we played a few games of snap instead. Childish, yet something they could beat me at.

Soon after, members of John's family started arriving for lunch. His aunt (mother's sister) and uncle and their three children arrived, then his great aunt and uncle with two of their grown up children, and finally his uncle (father's brother) and aunt – making 18 people. Obviously, we weren't all going to fit at the table in the dining room, so an extra table was brought in, and more chairs.

As lunch was served, conversation turned to John and myself – as it had yesterday. His aunts and uncles hadn't seen him for nearly four months, so they were eager to catch up on his life at Axton. Typically, the conversation turned to girls.

'Got a girlfriend either of you?' John's uncle (father's brother), Walter, asked.

I sighed awkwardly. 'Not my area.' I cleared my throat.

Walter seemed slightly confused, so his wife cleared that up for him. 'Ah... Play for the other team, do you?'

I nodded once and continued eating carrots, watching John's reaction. 'Me? I ah... No.'

'Come on, John. Surely there's someone special in your life.' His other uncle joined in.

John sighed angrily and looked at me from the corner of his eye. I shrugged inconspicuously. Apparently, he had decided to get it out in the open. 'You want to know if there's someone special in my life.'

'Yeah! Spill the beans, Johnny boy!' Walter said eagerly.

Harriet's eyes had widened. She knew what was happening.

'Well there is.' John said decidedly.

'There is?' His mother asked. 'Why didn't you bring her?'

John stared defiantly around the table. 'I did.' His eyes flicked to me.

I put my fork down to prepare for the onslaught.

'YOU!' John's father yelled. 'YOU'RE...' he turned quite red.

'Are you ashamed at having two gay children, Dad?' Harriet said loudly.

'YOU'RE... I DON'T BELIEVE THIS.' He spluttered. 'GET OUT. OF MY HOUSE.' He stood.

'Is that a threat?' I asked, standing.

'YES. GET OUT. _NOW_.' His hands were shaking and had clenched into fists. He stepped towards us.

I hauled John out of his seat and thrust him behind me. 'Fine. We'll leave and go back to London.'

'GOOD RIDANCE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE IMMEDIATELY.' John's father roared. 'I AM PREPARED TO USE VIOLENCE.'

'I would not recommend that. If you lay even just a _finger _on either of us in a threatening way, I will break every single bone in your hand. Then, I'll call my brother and he can _easily_ create a very expensive law suit against you and make sure you never get another job _ever_.' I pushed John out the door and pulled out my phone, dialling Mycroft already. 'Think your next move over very carefully, Mr Watson.'

As John and I went up the stairs to his room, I heard Mycroft pick up. 'Hello, Sherlock? Tell me this isn't a Christmas phonecall.'

'Not the time, Mycroft.' I pushed John into his room and put the lock on.

'What's wrong?'

'John's family just found out about him. And me.' I steered John to his bed. 'Apparently, his father is prepared to use violence if we don't leave immediately.'

'What do you want me to do, Sherlock?' Mycroft sighed.

'We're going to need to return to London. I won't be able to get a cab at such late notice, so, as much as it pains me to ask... Could you _personally_ pick us up from John's house?' I asked, cringing at having to ask him to personally collect us.

A short pause. 'What's the address?'

I gave it to him quickly and hung up. John was sitting on the bed, staring into space. 'John?'

'I didn't think he would react like that.' He said quietly. 'I knew he wouldn't like it, but I didn't think he would threaten me.'

'Well he hasn't acted on it yet. Mycroft is coming.' I sighed, repacking my suitcase. 'I know it won't be pleasant, but I'm not risking your father making good on his threat. Are you packed?'

John nodded. 'Pretty much. Thank you for defending me. You didn't need to put yourself in the firing line.'

'Yes, I did. You're my boyfriend, and I would _definitely _be able to take your father down. Sorry.'

John hugged me. 'Thank you.' He said again.

I heard Mycroft's car pull up and the door open. 'That's our cue, John.'

We grabbed our suitcases and opened the door. The hall was clear, so we went downstairs.

The front door opened to reveal Mycroft standing in the doorway. 'Merry Christmas. You must be John's sister. I'm here to collect my brother and his... John.' He smiled benignly.

'I think they're just coming down.' Harriet replied.

'Mycroft.' I said in greeting. John and I walked past him to put our bags in his car.

'I want to say goodbye.' John said, tugging on my sleeve. I nodded and followed him back.

John's parents were standing in the doorway to the living room, watching us. The rest of John's family was sitting behind them, watching us in wonder. John gave his family a sad smile, and his sister a long – and partially unwilling hug – before returning to the car.

'I'm sorry it came to this.' I said, addressing John's parents. 'But you should learn not to judge people. Especially your own son.' I turned to leave, but I was stopped by Harriet.

'Well you did exactly as you said you would.' She smiled faintly. 'Thank you.' She gave me a short hug. 'Take care of him. I'll keep in touch. But seriously - thanks.'

'You don't need to thank me, Harriet. I would do anything for him, even if it means risking myself.' I smiled sadly. 'Enjoy France.'

Mycroft walked with me back to the car. 'You did a good thing, brother.'

'No, I did the right thing.' I replied, shutting my door.


	11. London Again

John was silent the whole way back to my house. He sat staring out the window, and I could tell he was barely holding it together. When we arrived back at my house, John got out and waited for me to unlock the front door.

'Get the bags, please, Mycroft.' I asked him. 'I have to tend to my boyfriend.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but nodded understandingly and waved me out of the car.

I ran up to the door and unlocked it, gently winding my arm around John's waist. I led him up to my room, and he curled up on the bed. I shut the door, locking it, and went to lie beside him. He curled closer in to me and buried his head against my chest. I pulled the covers up, over our heads to create a cave, and hugged John even closer to me.

After a while of staying like that, John spoke in a small voice. 'I shouldn't have said anything.'

'They would have found out eventually.'

'I know, it's just... It's Christmas.' His chest heaved in a sob. 'My father kicked me out on Christmas.'

'I know.' I smiled, though he couldn't see. 'At least a couple of good things came out of it.'

'How is any of this good?'

'Well, we're at my house – so we don't have to hide... and we're boycotting Christmas.'

John giggled. 'We are, aren't we?' he looked up and around us. 'And we're in a cave.'

'We're in a cave.' I laughed. 'Small things, John.'

'This cave... I like it. We should stay here forever.' He sighed. 'No prejudiced fathers here.'

'Nope. Not one.' I kissed the top of his head. 'What do you want to do?'

'Well, the cave limits things a bit.'

I nodded. 'Mm. It does, doesn't it?'

John tilted his head up to look at me. 'Maybe we should leave the cave and make a fort. That would open new opportunities.'

'A fort... Maybe later. I'm liking the cave still.'

John ran his fingers through my hair and linked his hands behind my neck. 'Me too.' He pulled my head down and kissed me.

'John, this wasn't another of your schemes to get me into bed again, was it?'

He giggled against my skin. 'Not necessarily. It's certainly turning out that way though, isn't it?'

'So it seems.' I ran my hands up and down his arms.

'Well now that we _are_ in bed...' John trailed off suggestively.

'No.' I said firmly.

'Sherlock...' he whined. 'Why not?'

Why not? I had a reason, but he would think it ridiculous and not care in the slightest the way I did. 'Because I say so.' He wouldn't stand for that. 'It's only been six weeks. That's not long enough, John.'

'Even though we both know the other loves us?' He removed his hands. 'I don't see the issue.'

'We'll get round to it _some_day. Just not today, okay?'

'Fine.' he huffed. 'But promise – someday?'

'Promise.' I hugged him to me. 'Are you okay though? After what happened?'

He shook his head. 'No.' He shrunk into a small ball against me.

'It's okay, you know. If you want to cry or whatever.'

'Cry, no. Can we sleep?' He asked.

'I'm not really tired, but I'll stay with you if you want.' I replied softly.

He nodded. 'You're my favourite pillow.'

I smiled, and a few minutes later, John was asleep.

John and I went downstairs. Mycroft had knocked on the door around five to tell us when dinner was. Dinner itself was surprisingly comfortable. The silence wasn't awkward, it was comforting in a way. As much as I hated to admit it, I was probably indebted to Mycroft now, and no doubt he would call in a favour.

After dinner, John and I went back up to my room to make our fort. I had gathered pillows, blankets and other various things from around the house, and made a pile of them on my bed. We dragged the mattress from the double bed in one of the guest rooms through to my own, and dumped it in the middle of my floor, to be the centre of the fort. John strategically placed a few objects to serve as poles, and draped the biggest blanket across them. It covered the whole mattress, and fell around it to the floor. We tossed the remaining blankets over the mattress for extra comfort, and scattered pillows around the edges of the mattress.

When we were satisfied with our bed for the night, we added the pillows and covers from my bed and got ready for bed, brushing teeth and changing into pyjamas. John – being as much of a girl as he was – took much longer than I did, so I was already in bed when he finally crawled in.

'This is a pretty good fort.' He smiled, getting under the covers and lying beside me.

'Mm, I thought so.' I drew patterns across his shoulder and arm with my fingertips.

'You know... Despite what happened today, this has been one of my favourite Christmases.'

'Oh?'

'Yeah. The majority of it I spent wrapped in your arms.' He smiled.

I laughed. 'Happy to oblige.'

'It sucks we won't be able to do this at school.'

'Do what?'

'This.' John sighed. 'Lie in bed with each other.'

'I've been thinking about that actually.' I mused. 'Why don't you sleep in my room? My bed is certainly big enough.'

John was quiet for a few seconds. 'Okay.' He kissed my collarbone. 'Sounds good.'

'We're going out tomorrow.' I announced.

'Why?'

'The school's annual formal dance is coming up in the next few weeks.' I explained. 'You need a suit.'

'Why do _I _need a suit?'

'We're going, and unless you want to wear a dress...' I faded out.

John frowned. 'Won't you need a suit?'

'John, are you saying you don't think I own a suit?' I rolled my eyes.

'Right. Kidding. Of course you own a suit. You probably have a _room_ of suits.'

I laughed. 'Close enough.'

John sighed. 'You probably look brilliant in a suit. And I'll just be the potato next to you.'

'A potato in a suit, mind.' I grinned.

'Yes, thank you.' John casually slid his hand under my t-shirt and ran his fingertips over my stomach. 'Now there's been far too much talking going on for my liking.'

'Oh really?' I asked innocently.

'Far too much.' He growled. 'Now, shut up and kiss me.'

'Yes sir.' I replied, bringing my mouth to his.

The next day, we woke up outside our fort, on my floor, in a tangle of limbs and blanket. Somehow, I had lost my t-shirt during the night and early morning, and the wooden floor was cold against my back. John's head was on my shoulder, one arm around my neck, and his other arm across my chest. I couldn't feel one of my arms, so I assumed it was under John, and the other I had under my head, using it as a pillow.

John woke up and looked at me. 'Well I wasn't expecting that.' He said groggily. 'Aren't you cold, Sherlock?' Most of the blanket we had was over John.

'I suppose. We should relocate to the fort.' I lifted my head and looked around. 'And find my t-shirt...'

John shifted his head. 'Why are you topless?' he asked.

'No idea. Probably your doing.' I pushed John gently off me and went inside the fort to find my t-shirt. It was between a bunch of pillows.

'Lift the thingy up. I'm bringing the blanket back in.' John said. I could hear him dragging a blanket with him – not my bed cover though. That was still in the fort.

I collapsed onto the mattress and John crawled over me, pulling blanket over me. He snuggled up beside me and suddenly looked quite disheartened. 'You found your shirt.' He frowned.

'Sorry. I'm a bit cold.' I replied.

'Here, have more blanket.'

'We should probably get up. You still need a suit.'

John sighed. 'Why are we even going?'

'Rite of passage. Or something. Even if neither of us want to be there, we can be that annoying couple making out in the corner.' I suggested.

'Deal. I need a suit.' He grinned.

It didn't take us long to get John a suit. He wasn't picky when it came to clothes – much. The only thing he insisted on was matching me and my suit. Seeing as he was sure that no one at our school apart from Molly knew about us, he thought that coming out and announcing our relationship at the same time was a good idea.

When he came out in the first suit, he said to me: 'If we're going to do this, we might as well go all the way.'

'What exactly might that entail, John?' I asked suspiciously.

'Coming out – obviously, dancing, and kissing in dark corners as to our agreement.' He said twirling in front of the mirror.

'This isn't a debutante ball where you can just "come out" into society, John.' I stopped him twirling. 'This is a school function, full of idiots ready to kick the crap out of you. It happened to me, and they were weak then. Now, they're older and stronger.'

John frowned. 'I know it won't be easy. But I'll be ready. Besides, they got you unaware in a bathroom.'

'They _will _find a way to you, John. Just don't travel the school alone, okay? Ever. Stay with me or Molly or _someone_ you trust.' I looked him in the eyes. 'I promised your sister I wouldn't let you get hurt, and I'll stick to that even if it kills me.'

He nodded. 'Understood. Now, this suit. Good? I like it.'

I sat down again and looked disinterestedly around. 'Anything you want.'

John smiled, satisfied. 'I think I'll go with this one then.'

'Okay then. Get that one. Do you want any adjustments made? Longer sleeves or whatever?'

He shook his head. 'This is fine.' John went back into the changing room, and emerged a few minutes later carrying the bits of clothing.

After we bought it, I took him past the place we had had dinner at on our first night in London. We ordered takeaway meals (salad for me, pizza – again – for John) and went back to my house to eat. We sat in the kitchen, eating, when suddenly the front door opened.

'Is Mycroft back already?' John asked, mouth full of pizza.

'He shouldn't be.' I said slowly. 'Stay here.' I put my fork down and went out of the kitchen.

I stopped in the doorway between the entry hall and the hallway the kitchen was off and peeked around the corner. Who it was, I was _not _expecting. 'Aren't you meant to be somewhere overseas?' I asked loudly, coming into the hall.

They turned around and the woman gasped. 'Sherlock?' she broke into a small smile. 'Mycroft didn't tell us you would be here again.'

'Slight mishap in my plans.' I rolled my eyes. 'Why are you here?'

'We were due back today. But we're leaving in a couple of days anyway.' The man said quietly.

'Sherlock, who is-' John ran into the room and stopped abruptly. I didn't turn around to face him.

'Ah, you must be John Watson.' The woman rushed forward and gave him a hug.

I could feel confusion radiating off John. 'Yes, this is John.' I turned to see his expression as the woman stepped back away from him. 'John, these are my parents – Arthur and Connie Holmes.'

There was a short silence. 'Pleasure to meet you, Mr and Mrs Holmes.' John smiled.

'And you.' My mother said, returning his smile. 'We've heard a lot about you, John.'

'Too much.' My father said, grabbing two of the bags piled in the hall and taking them upstairs.

'Ignore him. He didn't want to leave Spain.' My mother waved her hand dismissively. 'So you're John Watson...' She ran her eyes over him. 'Hmm. I see what Mycroft is talking about.'

'Sorry-' John began, but I cut him off.

'What has Mycroft been saying to you?'

'You know what he's been saying.' She raised an eyebrow. 'But you're dating my son, yes?'

John's jaw fell open. 'I... Um... What?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Yes, he is. We were having lunch. Excuse us.' I pushed John back into the kitchen as I heard her take a couple of the smaller bags upstairs. 'Still want your pizza?' I asked, spearing a bit of lettuce.

'Those were your parents?' he asked, picking up the piece of pizza he had been eating.

'Mhmm.' I crunched the lettuce.

'Your mum is so... _Nice_.' He shook his head. 'You had led me to believe that your parents were evil.'

'Don't be mistaken.' I said replied, stabbing a piece of cucumber viciously. 'My father has a bad temper and my mother... She's not as bad, but it was slightly suffocating growing up.'

'Your parents are okay with you being gay though.' He chewed the pizza thoughtfully.

'I suppose you could say that. I think that at the moment, they're just happy I have you to keep me out of _too _much trouble.' I smiled.

'Your father said that they had been hearing _too _much about me... That wasn't your doing though, was it?'

'Mycroft. He keeps them updated on every aspect of my life.'

'Including me?'

'Including you, yes.' I replied, eating the cucumber. 'You're the... fifth most concerning thing on my list of "issues" actually.'

'Fifth?'

'Mm. Only after my bad habits.'

'Do they think something could go drastically wrong between us?' he joked.

'They do, yes.' I replied seriously.

'Wait, really?'

'Mm. They think, that like pretty much everything, you're just a phase.'

'How do you know this?' he asked, angrily biting his pizza.

I shrugged. 'I have remote access to Mycroft's computers.'

John laughed. 'Should've known. How long have they thought that about me?'

'Roughly eight weeks.' I said, seeking out the last piece of cucumber in the salad.

'Eight? But we've only been dating for six.'

I rolled my eyes. 'John, remember how I liked you _before _then, and started ignoring you?'

'Yeah? Oh... Obviously.' He grinned, finishing off his slice of pizza.

'John, Sherlock.' My mother walked into the kitchen. 'Your father and I were wondering if you would like to go for dinner?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Couldn't go for dinner when I came out of rehab, but now John's here, let's have dinner?'

'Is something wrong?' she frowned.

'No.' John replied. 'We would love to.'

'Mycroft will be there too, yes?' I asked.

'Of course.'

'Brilliant.' I said sarcastically, turning back to my salad.

'He's in a bit of a mood.' John said, kicking me under the table.

I scowled at him, but didn't say anything.

'He usually is. Dinner at eight.' She smiled, leaving the room.

'Ugh. Look what you've done John.' I said after she left. 'Not only are my _parents _going to be there, but _Mycroft _will be too!'

'So?'

'That's _three_ members of my family, sitting at a table with us, judging you. Me – they know almost every detail of my life, but _you_, you're fresh meat for them to interrogate, John.'

'Ah.' He bit his pizza thoughtfully. 'It's going to be horrifying, isn't it?'

'Quite likely, yes.' I agreed. 'On the bright side, we have... nearly seven hours to prepare ourselves for the onslaught. You more than me.'

'God, that sounds ominous.'

I shrugged. 'You only have yourself to blame.'

'How is it my fault?'

'Simple. You agreed to dinner.'


	12. Dinner

'John, hurry up. Now you're making us late!' I banged my fist against the bathroom door and paced around my room, lit cigarette in hand.

John came out, frowning. 'I thought you didn't _want _to go to dinner with your family.'

'I don't.' I scowled. 'But they won't be pleased with you taking your sweet time.'

'Put out the cigarette. Let's go.' John said, swinging a jacket on.

I crushed the cigarette into my ashtray and followed John down the stairs. My parents had already left, so John and I were going to the restaurant with Mycroft in his car. He was waiting for us in the hall and sighed when he saw us.

'Does the word _reservation_ not mean anything to you?' He opened the door and gestured for us to go outside and into the waiting car.

We drove to the restaurant mostly in silence. John was gripping my hand across the seat in between us and I was rubbing circles into his hand with my thumb. I could tell he was slightly anxious after my telling him what to expect – judgement. Despite his distaste for it, he had joined me in a few pre-dinner glasses of wine. When we arrived at the restaurant, Mycroft waited impatiently for us to get out of the car and walk ahead of him in through the doors.

The maître d' saw Mycroft and gestured for him to go through to where my parents were sitting, already with a bottle of wine between them. I sat between John and my mother, and John was beside Mycroft, leaving my father to be – more or less – opposite John and myself.

I poured myself a glass of wine as my father watched me disapprovingly. The waiter arrived and gave us menus before wandering back off through the tables.

'Oh God.' I heard John mutter. He nudged me and nodded to the menu. 'It's in Italian.'

'Yes?' I said. 'Do you want some help ordering?'

'You understand Italian?' He asked.

'I understand a few languages, yes.' I replied, flicking my eyes across the menu for something to John's taste.

'I didn't know that.' He mused.

'There's still quite a bit you don't know, John.' I took a sip of my wine. 'What do you feel like?'

'There wouldn't happen to be any pizza on the menu, by chance?' he asked hopefully.

I chuckled. 'There is. But why don't you... branch out?'

'Then in that case... I'll have what you're having.'

I snapped my menu shut. 'Good choice.'

My parents and Mycroft followed suit not longer after and gestured for the waiter to return. 'We'd like to order.'

'Of course, sir. What can I get you?' he asked.

My family placed their orders – John sounding quite confused at their choices – and I ordered for John and I. The waiter bowed and left.

'Oh, wait.' I called after him. 'Can one of those be without mushrooms?'

'Of course.' He scribbled something down on his notepad and continued on his way.

'So.' My father said, breaking the silence. 'How is school, Sherlock?'

I rolled my eyes and sighed. 'Fine. Passing all subjects with top results, no teacher complaints since I've been back from rehab. The second time.'

'Speaking of, how was rehab?'

'_Fine_. Surely Mycroft has told you everything you want to know. Why ask me?'

My father narrowed his eyes and took a sip of wine. Seeing it as a good opportunity, my mother started on John.

'What about you, John? How are you doing at school?' she asked kindly.

'Good, I guess. My grades aren't as good as Sherlock's, but I'm passing.' John said quietly, looking like he wished he was invisible.

'What about sports? Clubs?' she probed further.

'I ah... I'm part of the school's football team.'

'That's nice.' She beamed. 'So is Sherlock your first-'

'Mother, that's not necessary to talk about right now.' I interrupted.

She frowned at me. 'Just asking. Sorry if I offended you, John.'

'It's fine.' He smiled weakly. 'I guess I'll have to stop getting startled when someone talks to me about it _someday_.'

My mother smiled, taking a sip of her wine. 'Do you ride, John?'

'Ride... what?' he asked. 'Like, horses?'

She nodded. 'Yes, horses.'

He paused thoughtfully. 'A bit. I went riding a few times when I was younger, but not since then.'

'I ask because tomorrow I'm going out to my stables to check on the horses.' She explained. 'I was wondering if perhaps, if you and Sherlock don't have any plans, if you would like to come? Sherlock could take you riding.' She grinned at me. 'It's been a while since you were there.'

John looked at me, and I could tell he wanted to. I sighed in resignation. 'I suppose. We don't have any plans for the rest of the week. If you want – and with your permission, Mother – we could stay there for the night? Maybe for the rest of our time away from Axton?' I suggested.

'Of course you can.' My mother said happily. 'Would you like to do that, John?'

'Sure. Sounds fun.'

'Good.' She grinned.

The food arrived and John looked at his plate. I don't think he would have chosen it himself. 'Sherlock,' he whispered. 'What is this?'

'It's pasta, a light parmesan sauce, spring onions, chicken and – for me – mushrooms. It's quite nice, and this place does a particularly good version of it. Trust me.'

Tentatively, John took a small bite of it, his eyes widening. 'This is amazing.' He grinned. 'It might not be pizza, or a piece of well-cooked steak, but wow. You have taste.'

'And aren't you glad I do?' I murmured.

As we ate, Mycroft and my parents seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation. There was a lot of expressive gestures with their eyes, and eventually my mother looked like she had given up. She kept her eyes down and she watched her food carefully. All three of them were washing nearly every mouthful of food down with wine, and by the end of the meal, two more bottles had been ordered and drained.

We didn't speak any more, and John was intent on being as inconspicuous as possible, trying to get away from the looks my father kept sending us over the table. We paid and left, following behind my parents in Mycroft's car. When we arrived back at my house, John and I went directly up the stairs towards my room, before being called back by my mother.

'I'll come and wake you at about 7am tomorrow, yes?'

'See you then.' I replied, pushing John back to my room.

'Good night, Sherlock. John.' She called after us.

'Good night, Mrs Holmes!' John replied over my shoulder.

Back in my room, John collapsed onto my bed. 'Glad that's over.'

'Me too.' I replied, taking off my jacket. 'Bed?'

'Mm. Probably should.' He replied, pushing himself off the bed and wandering into the bathroom, dropping his jacket onto his suitcase.

While he was in the bathroom, I took the opportunity to get changed, brushing my teeth after he had come back out.

I slid into bed (we had relocated from the fort) and stared at the ceiling with my arms behind my head, while John needlessly performed a few trivial tasks such as brushing his hair. When he finally got into bed, he put his head on my arm.

'You can ride horses?' he asked.

'My mother breeds and trains them. I've been riding them since I was about four.'

'And you understand Italian.'

I laughed. 'Yes. Like I said, there's a lot you don't know.'

'How much?' he asked curiously.

'Lots. I'll give you this one opportunity. You get five questions and I'll answer them honestly.'

'Only five?'

'We'll see.'

'Okay then.' He agreed. 'In that case, question one. How many languages do you understand?'

I paused thoughtfully. 'Italian, French, German and Spanish.'

'How?'

'I get bored. Languages could be useful.' I said simply.

'Huh... Second-'

'Third question, actually. "How" counts as the second.'

He sighed. 'Whatever. _Third_ question. Why does your father seem to hate me?'

'He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't get why I'm with you. None of my family do. They think that we're complete opposites and therefore, naturally we shouldn't work.'

'But your mum seems to like me.' He said, seemingly a bit confused.

'She gets us more than my father or brother. But yes, she does seem to like you.' I smiled down at him. 'Next question.'

'You said that Mycroft keeps your parents updated on your life, including your relationship with me.' He paused. 'How much exactly does he know?'

'Little. Only what he has managed to get out of me or make an assumption or deduction about. So don't worry – even if they knew everything, they wouldn't care. Last question now. We should get some sleep.'

'Okay. When we were talking, you said that your family rated me as your fifth worst habit.'

'Right... What about that?' I asked.

'Well, I only know about three of your bad habits – smoking, drinking and drugs – so I was wondering what the other one was.'

I was silent. No. I couldn't tell him that. For other people, it would be fine to just come out and say it, but for me, and to John – _John_ of all people – I couldn't tell him. It would completely throw him. I knew I would have to tell him eventually, but now was not the time. 'That, John, I will _not_ tell you.'

'But-'

'No, John. Some things are best kept private.' I replied firmly. 'Let's get some sleep. Early start tomorrow.'


	13. The Stables

**A/N: **Hey guys! First off, thank you for reviewing, alerting and favouriting both this story and myself – it's nice to check my emails and find a bunch of those. Secondly, just a small note – I won't be able to update this quite as regularly as I have been. (There was snow, then I got sick for two weeks, and then it was my holidays – so I had five weeks of writing time.) I'm going back to school, so I won't be able to stay up until 1am every night writing a new chapter from scratch. I think I might be able to get out two or three chapters a week for the next few weeks – but then I have preliminary exams in September so it will go slowly again, and usually there is affair bit of homework associated with that. But um, yeah. Thanks for the support and everything c:

'Sherlock, John, it's 7am. Time to get up!' Sherlock's mother called cheerily through the door.

'John, get up. I've packed your suitcase.' Sherlock patted me on the shoulder.

'Ugh. Okay.' I said groggily. 'How long do I have?'

'About half an hour to get ready and have had breakfast.' He replied softly.

'Fine.' I opened my eyes. The room was still dark and Sherlock was standing over me, he was smiling happily and his deliciously messy hair was falling in front of his eyes. 'Morning.'

His smile turned into a grin. 'Good morning.' He replied, moving away and taking a bite of the apple in his hands.

After I got up, ready and was leaving Sherlock's room, nearly 20 minutes had gone by. There wasn't really time for me to eat anything, so I followed Sherlock's example and had an apple.

His mother came in beaming. 'Ready to go? Put your bags in the car and we can leave.'

I dropped my apple core in the bin and followed Sherlock out to the car with my bags. He seemed to be either anxious or excited – but I couldn't decide which it was because I had never seen him anxious _or_ excited. We got in the car as Sherlock's mother came out and locked the door.

She joined us in the car and looked over the seats at us. 'It's about a two-hour drive, so I hope you two will manage. We can stop for coffee or whatever if you want, but it's probably easier to just do it in one go. Yes?'

'Yup, that's fine by me.' I smiled.

Sherlock was silent, but nodded and stared out the window. He remained silent the entire way to the stables and farm, but for drumming his fingers against his leg and the occasional few notes of humming. His mother and I made polite conversation – the weather, current affairs, discussing our thoughts on the music her chosen radio station was playing – but it dropped after about an hour. The closer we seemed to be getting to the stables, the more excited he seemed to be getting and the beat he was making against his leg was getting faster and more complicated until it stopped entirely.

He turned his head and grinned at me. 'We're here.'

His mother turned into a driveway lined with trees and drove slowly towards a large house at the end. It was clad in white stone and had a black door – like their house in London. Ivy had started making its way up the stonework, and was nearly at the bottom of the second storey windows. There were small, well kept bushes lining the grass, and a path leading around the side of the house.

Sherlock jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped and waited impatiently for his mother and I to get out as well. 'Do I need to take my bags up?' he asked.

His mother shook her head. 'I'll get one of the staff to put your bags in your bedroom. Sharing one with John I assume?'

He nodded. 'Yes yes, can we go?'

She grinned. 'I suppose. Don't startle the chickens!'

'I know!' he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me down the path. 'I missed it here.' He sighed.

'You seem... Happy. Excited.' I said, slightly confused at his behaviour.

'Well done, John. I am.' He rolled his eyes. 'Do you have a problem with that?'

'No no. It's just... Unusual.' I smiled. 'Why are you dragging me?'

'My horse. I haven't seen him in quite a while. Nearly two years, I think, since I was last here.'

'You have a horse?'

'Of course. Why do you make it sound like you didn't expect it?'

'I ah... Sorry. Should've known.' I muttered.

We rounded the corner and the stables came into sight. They were about 300 metres from the house and there were chickens crisscrossing the path the entire way there. Through the doors, it smelt strongly of hay, and Sherlock led me expertly down the aisle to the last pen. The nameplate in the door said _'Achilles'_.

Sherlock opened the door carefully and stepped inside, letting go of my arm. He walked cautiously up to the animal and stroked its neck. He murmured to it, and the animal tossed its head. Sherlock chuckled and waved me in.

'Meet Achilles.' Sherlock smiled. The horse was huge and had a glossy pure black coat. 'Achilles, meet John.' The horse tossed its head and Sherlock chuckled in amusement.

'This is your horse.' I said rather obviously. 'He's um. Pretty.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Mm. Shall I find you a horse for your time here?' he asked.

'If you want. I can't really ride though...'

'I'll teach you.' He said decisively, pushing past me and out the door.

Sherlock wandered up and down the aisle, but eventually settled on one just a few pens down from Achilles. The horse inside was slightly smaller than Achilles, and was a rich chestnut brown with a black mane. The name plate on the door read _'Calliope'_.

'Achilles, Calliope... I'm sensing a theme here.' I noted.

'Theme?' Sherlock grinned. 'What theme?'

'Achilles was the great Greek warrior and Calliope was the muse of epic poetry in Ancient Greek myth.' I explained. 'Any other horses named in a similar style?'

He raised his eyebrow. 'Good observation. And yes. Just a few. Orion, Thalia, Odysseus, Telemachus.'

'Thalia was the muse of comedy right? And Odysseus, of course, King of Ithaca and namesake of 'The Odyssey', Telemachus was his son. Orion was the great hunter who fell in love with Dawn.' I said.

'Thalia and Orion – both correct. Odysseus and Telemachus, as well and the familial bonds are the same for my horses. Father and son.' He seemed a bit impressed at my knowledge. 'Very good. So, this horse. If I teach you to ride, you should be good, yes?'

'If you teach me to ride, there should be no problems.' I shrugged. 'Wait. Did you say "my horses"?'

'My horses. Yes. I used to spend a lot of time here. Before everything went a bit... wrong.'

I nodded. 'Should we get them saddled or something?'

'I'll do it. Go wait outside near the ring. I'll have them ready soon.' He waved me out the door.

I did as Sherlock told me, finding a seat on an overturned wheelbarrow, while I waited for him to reappear.

After about fifteen minutes, Sherlock came out of the stables with both horses saddled. He smiled at me and nodded towards the gate. 'Open it?'

Eventually, when I had managed to open the gate, Sherlock led both horses inside and waited for me to get inside and close it again.

'Do you know how to get onto a horse?' he asked seriously.

'Yes.' I replied indignantly.

Sherlock watched me with amusement as I struggled to get on the horse. He swung expertly onto the back of his own horse and laughed in surprise when I was finally sitting in the saddle.

'Please.' He said. 'Next time, take a bit longer if you want. I'll have a coffee while I wait.' He swung back off again. 'Now get down.'

I slid off the horse's back and landed with both feet on the ground. 'What was that for? Do you know how long it took me to get _up _there?'

He nodded. 'You should master getting on and off a horse first.' Sherlock smiled. 'Don't worry. You'll be brilliant when I'm finished with you.'

Sherlock showed me the correct procedures for getting on and off a horse safely and swiftly. When he decided that showing me wasn't enough, he guided me through doing it on my horse. After about fifteen minutes, I was able to do it right – though not as fast as Sherlock.

'See? I told you.' He said smugly. 'Controlling a horse. Easy.' He swung back onto his horse and walked it around the ring we were in. He told me the basics and then told me to get Calliope to walk around.

What he had said worked perfectly fine, and I grinned at him. 'Easy.'

'Good.' He handed me a helmet, jumped off his horse and went around me to open the gate. 'We're going to go for a ride now.'

'Aren't you going to put a helmet on?' I asked, noticing his lack of one.

'Why would I? I won't fall off.' He rolled his eyes. 'Let's go.' He grinned, cantering off out the gates on Achilles.

We rode the horses for most of the day until about 5pm, only getting off them for lunch. Well. Sherlock that is. I – as he predicted – fell off a few times, but got the hold of it after a couple of hours. Sherlock appeared to be happy about being back at the stables - I had rarely seen him so. The change in him almost scared me because I didn't know he could be like this. It seemed that Axton had really taken the life from him.

At dinner, he went back to being silent, but in a happier manner. A new life had been breathed into him and it occurred to me that he had probably once been like this a lot – happy, smiling, hopeful.

Not just the brooding, moody Sherlock I was used to, who had been through absolute hell and was still facing so many issues. After dinner, we went up to his room, and found our bags in one corner.

Sherlock flopped onto the bed – just as big as his bed at his home in London – and sighed happily. 'I missed it here.'

'I can tell.' I replied, lying down next to him. 'You're so different here.'

'Different? How?' he asked curiously.

'I don't know... You just seem happier. More enthusiastic.'

'Enthusiastic.' He mused. 'My mother used to tell me I was part horse. I guess I just get along with them better. No petty emotions like humans.'

'Huh... That explains why you eat so many apples I guess.' I laughed.

He rolled his eyes. 'If that's what you want to think. Do you want a shower?'

'Ugh. Yes.' I got up off the bed and started rifling through my suitcase for my toiletries. 'Where's the shower?'

'Down the hall, second door on the left. Towels are in the cupboard beside the bathroom door.' He replied. 'Don't take too long. There are other people in this house who need a shower too.'

'I'll try.' I smiled from the doorway.

Keeping what Sherlock had told me in mind, I sped through my shower routine, speed-washing my hair as well. I arrived back in Sherlock's room to find him gone, and a note on the pillow.

'_John, gone outside. My mother dislikes me smoking in this house.'_

I was just about to go out and find him, when I bumped into him in the hallway. 'Oh, hey. I found your note.' I said, waving it in the air.

'Right. Well I'm inside now. I'm going to shower. Excuse me.' His manner had changed abruptly, and he pushed past me as I stood in confusion. I wandered back up to his room and waited for him to come back from the shower.

When he did, he smiled sadly at me and sat down on the bed. 'Sorry. Mycroft replaced all my cigarettes with low-tar.'

'Oh.' I chuckled. 'I know how you hate that.'

'Indeed.' He stretched out on the bed. 'I apologise if I confused you.'

'Yeah, you did a bit.' I stretched out beside him. 'I was wondering if I had done something.'

'No.' He pulled me onto my side to face him. 'How did you like it here today?'

'It was good. You make a brilliant teacher.'

Sherlock laughed and kissed the top of my head. 'Thank you.' He sighed. 'You have a question.'

'Maybe.'

'You always have a question. Go ahead.'

'Your other bad habit. Feel like telling me yet?' I asked hopefully.

'You don't learn do you?' he rolled to his back. 'No. It's not something I would just _tell _you.'

'Why? Don't you trust me?'

'I trust you more than most other people. It's your reaction I'm worried about.'

'I won't get angry.'

'Anger is not how you would react anyway. You would...' he paused, looking for the right word. 'Look John. I'll tell you when I want. Not when you ask me to divulge my secrets. This is just something I want to keep personal for now.' He rolled over completely, facing the other wall.

'Okay, whatever. It's fine. I won't push you.' I turned over as well and slid under the covers. 'Goodnight then.'

Suddenly, Sherlock's voice was at my ear. 'Thank you. Good night.' He whispered, putting a small, light kiss on my temple and turning off the light on his nightstand.


	14. Identity Crisis

When I woke up, Sherlock was already gone. There were no notes explaining his absence, so I got dressed and went down to the kitchen. Apparently he had been seen at about 4.30am getting up and going for a walk around the grounds, cigarette box in hand. Sherlock returned at 6.45am and went to have a shower. He hadn't been seen since. The time was 7.30, so I figured he could still be in the bathroom. I grabbed an apple and went up to the bathroom, munching as I went.

The door to the bathroom was closed, so I knocked. 'Sherlock? Are you in there?'

'Yeah, yeah. Sorry.' The reply was faster than I expected. 'Does someone want the bathroom?'

'Oh, no. I was just coming to find you.' I explained, taking another bite.

'Right. I'll be out soon. No riding today though.'

'Okay... I'll wait for you in the kitchen then.'

'See you in a minute.'

I walked down the hallway, pondering what could make Sherlock not want to ride today. It was raining a little bit, but that wouldn't be enough to stop him by itself. As I entered the kitchen, I tossed me apple core into the food scrap bin and searched around for something else. I decided on a piece of the focacia bread sitting in the cupboard would suffice, and sat on a chair at the small table in the corner. I was halfway through the piece of bread when Sherlock walked in, wincing.

He grimaced at the chair and leant against the bench. 'I thought we could stay in today. It's raining.'

'I noticed. Why no riding?'

He shrugged. 'Don't feel like it. Do you want to play some board games?' Sherlock grinned. 'We have Cluedo.'

'Ah, no.' I shook my head. 'Not playing that again with you.'

He sighed. 'Monopoly? That takes a while.'

'Okay.' I nodded. 'Monopoly it is.'

After playing Monopoly for nearly four hours, we had lunch. Sherlock still insisted we didn't go riding, so – after a _very _small amount of pleading and grovelling on Sherlock's behalf, we played a few games of Cluedo. Typically, he won, so I gave up and we watched a few movies. At dinner time, Sherlock sat quietly and seemed sad. We went up to his room – as usual – and he pushed me onto the bed. Sherlock surprised me by curling up at my side.

'We're going back to Axton tomorrow.' He said finally.

'I know.'

'Back to a school filled with idiotic teenagers only concerned with getting laid.'

'Apparently so.' I agreed.

'We should leave and run away.' Sherlock said after a few moments silence.

'Where to?'

'Anywhere.'

'We can't just _leave_. You might be smart enough and have enough money to be able to afford not to finish school, but I can't, Sherlock.'

He sighed. 'Never mind. You're probably right. Mycroft would never allow it.'

'Probably not.'

'Oh well. Still – Axton.' He shuddered. 'I have a bad feeling about going back.'

'Like what?' I asked.

'I... I don't know. Just that something bad is going to happen.'

We got back to Axton around 11am. Sherlock's mother dropped us off in front of the dorm with all our stuff and waved at us cheerily as she drove off. Sherlock turned in preparation to stalk angrily into the building. Instead, he stopped and his face went pale.

'Oh God.'

'What?' I followed his line of sight to a boy standing with Molly just in front of the desk. 'Do you know him?'

He nodded uncertainly. 'When I was in rehab, there was this boy there. Our age, but he acted like a spoilt child. Terribly intelligent too.' Sherlock turned to me. 'James Moriarty. The Irish psychopath.'

'Is that him?' I asked.

'I think so... He looks a bit different though.' He shook his head and walked determinedly through the doors, past the desk and to the elevator.

I followed him into our dorm room, and just after I had shut the door, there was a knock. I pulled my suitcase up and leant it against my usual chair before opening the door. It was Molly and the new boy.

'Oh, hey John.' She smiled. 'How was your Christmas?'

'Good, yeah. How was yours?'

'Ugh. Awesome.' She sighed. 'You might not have noticed, but there's a new student at Axton.' Molly pulled him out from behind her. 'This is Richard Brook.'

'People call me Rich for short.' He smiled and put his hand out. 'Molly's told me a lot about you and... What did you say his name was, Molly?'

'Sherlock. John's roommate.'

'Ah yes. And Sherlock.'

'Nice to meet you.' I replied, shaking his hand.

Sherlock walked out. 'What are you doing here?' he scowled at Rich.

'Excuse me?' Rich looked a bit taken aback at Sherlock's abrupt manner.

'Moriarty. You. What are you doing here.' He repeated.

'I don't understand...' Rich looked to Molly, confused.

'Sherlock, this is Rich. He's new.' She said.

'No, that is Moriarty. Get him out. Now.' He demanded.

'What? Why?'

'OUT. NOW.' He pushed Rich and Molly out the door and shut it, putting the lock on.

I stared at Sherlock, bewildered. 'What was that for?'

'I don't want him near _me_ or _you_.'

'But that's Richard Brook... Are you sure you didn't get him mixed with someone else?'

'No, of course not! That _is_ Moriarty.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Okay. If you say it's Moriarty, then I'll believe you. I don't know what he looked like.'

'Exactly. Trust me on this.'

'Yeah yeah. I trust you.' I replied, perching on tiptoe to give him a hug. 'Calm down.'

He melted a little and returned my hug. 'Just don't get too close to him. Please.' Sherlock's voice was at my ear.

'I promise.'

'Thank you.' He replied, kissing my temple lightly.


	15. Doctors

Now that we were operating on the 'Rich-is-Moriarty' theory, Sherlock was highly protective of me. He either went everywhere with me (whether or not I was aware of it) or made sure I had someone else with me – usually Molly. If I ever had to go somewhere alone, he fretted and paced the area he was in, even if it was just to go get more towels. Sherlock was convinced that Rich _was _Moriarty and that he was "playing an elaborate game" that involved his self-disguise as Richard Brook.

When Sherlock found out I had a class – Maths – with Rich/Moriarty, he tried to make me drop the course. After that didn't work, he ordered me to stay as far from him as I could in the confines of the room. I didn't tell him there were no free desks in the room, and that I was seated beside Rich.

To me, I wasn't sure if Sherlock was right with his theory. Rich seemed perfectly fine. I found him to be fairly quiet, studious and polite. Nice, even. We were often put together for pair exercises, and ended up talking about ourselves. Rich was Irish, and had moved here to Axton because his parents had died in a car accident and he was living with his aunt and uncle. He got me talking a bit about my life too. I told him about my dysfunctional family and the episode that had happened over Christmas, though I subconsciously avoided mentioning Sherlock, and made out that I had gone to my parents' house alone and spent the majority of the holidays at school.

When I told him about what had happened with my family, his eyes glittered for a moment and he looked triumphant, then he said quietly: 'Wait... You're gay?'

'Yeah. Got an issue with that?' I asked, letting an edge creep into my voice.

He shook his head. 'I thought I'd be alone.' Rich smiled sadly.

I returned his smile uneasily. 'Sorry. I'm taken.'

'Really?' He sounded hurt, almost.

'Mm.' I put my head back to my work, and heard his pencil scratch paper as he worked out some problems ridiculously fast.

'That's too bad.' He said after a few minutes.

I stopped and looked suspiciously at him. 'Why?'

Rich rolled his eyes. 'Why do you think?'

Oh. _Oh. _'Ah. Sorry.' I said, embarrassed.

'It's okay. I don't think that you'd break up with your boyfriend to be with me. No sane person would.' He laughed sadly, and without humour.

I didn't really know what to say to that. Finally, I just said: 'Right.' And we sat and worked in silence for the remainder of the class.

* * *

At the end of the school day when I arrived back in the dorm room, Sherlock was already there and plucking the strings of his violin. He was staring blankly ahead but looked up when I entered.

'John.' Sherlock blinked, confused. 'Shouldn't you be in class?'

'Um.' I dumped my bag on the floor. 'No. Classes just finished.'

'Huh.' He plucked a string again. 'Oh well.' He sniggered.

'What?' I asked.

'I've been here since lunch. Didn't you notice I was missing?'

'I went to the library, and didn't have time to get any food actually.' My stomach grumbled, emphasising my point.

'Apple?' he suggested, nodding to the bowl of fruit on the small table in the corner beside him.

'Mm.' I nodded, catching the one he threw me. 'I feel like I haven't eaten food in 73 years.'

'I don't doubt.' He rolled his eyes. 'How was your day?'

'The usual. Fine. Boring.' I shrugged, taking a bite of the apple. 'You?'

Sherlock frowned. 'I got a text from Mycroft.' He said quietly.

'Oh yeah? What about?'

'Nothing of particular importance.' He shrugged. 'On Friday I'm going to London.'

'Why?' I asked, munching on apple.

'Doctor. I have a check up.' He plucked a painful note on the violin and set it down with a sigh.

'Aw. I won't see you this weekend then.' I pouted.

The ghost of a smile appeared. 'I was going to ask you if you wanted to accompany me up to London. Friday off school, two nights there and returning on Sunday.'

'Friday off? I'm in.' I said immediately. Today was Wednesday, so I only had one day left of school.

'Good.' He replied, sounding anything but.

* * *

It was Friday. Mycroft was sending a car to pick us up at 11.30am, so Sherlock and I slept in until 10 and had a late breakfast in the deserted kitchen. Sherlock didn't eat anything – not even the usual apple – and instead watched me with a mix of disgust and fascination as I ate three pieces of pizza.

'You should consider cutting down the pizza consumption rate.' He commented, shaking his head.

'It's delicious actually.' I replied indignantly.

'Maybe, but pizza for breakfast?'

'Yes, pizza for breakfast.' I stood from the table. 'Should we get our bags? It's nearly 11.30.'

He nodded. 'Might as well. Let the fun begin.'

* * *

We arrived in London just after lunch. Sherlock's appointment was at 3.30pm, so we had some time to kill. Sherlock, however, decided to spend the majority of the time pacing his room until it was time to go. He swung on his coat and led me on a 20 minute walk through numerous allies and across a small, empty park to his doctor's office. We walked into the waiting area just as Sherlock's doctor came to get him.

'Perfectly on time as usual, Mr Holmes. This way.' He turned back the way he had come and Sherlock followed, tugging my sleeve to go with him.

Once inside the office, I sat beside Sherlock in one of the chairs. 'This is John.' Sherlock introduced me.

'Dr Steadwell.' He shook my hand, smiling. 'Nice to meet you.' He turned his attention to Sherlock. 'Just for a check up today, yes?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Apparently.'

'Right. Shall we go through the whole process this time? Or will you just tell me what I want to know?' Dr Steadwell asked suspiciously.

'I'll just tell you.' Sherlock waved his hand dismissively.

'Good.' He flipped open a chart. 'Alcohol. How are we doing on that front?'

'No underage drinking at school for the moment. I had a few glasses at Christmas.'

The doctor scribbled something down. 'Smoking?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I've cut down. A pack every week or two.'

Steadwell chuckled. 'Well I wasn't expecting you to _quit_. I know that's asking a bit too much.' He looked up. 'Now, what about drugs? How's that going?'

Sherlock looked thoughtful for a moment. 'Clean for about five, maybe six weeks.'

'That's good. We're getting there.' The doctor smiled, satisfied. 'Now. Finally. The other thing we don't mention.'

Sherlock's face turned dark. 'There's a _reason_ we don't mention it.'

'I know, I know. Private and all that. How long, though, has it been?' he pressed gently.

Sherlock ran his hand through his hair. He was getting agitated. '10 days.'

'That's better, I suppose. Not ideal, but I'll take it.' The chart was flipped closed. 'How much longer do you think you'll last?'

There was a long pause. 'I don't know.' Sherlock said finally. 'Maybe weeks, days, maybe less.'

Steadwell nodded. 'Well you know what you're doing, and really that's the only thing I get hope from. At least your more _reckless _days are behind you.' He stood up. 'But you know what I think, and you know the rules. Be careful, Sherlock.'

* * *

Sherlock slammed the front door and ran upstairs. I followed him, trying to keep up as he leapt up three stairs at a time. 'Sherlock, wait!' I called after him.

When I entered his room, he was sitting on the floor against the footboard of his bed, head in hands. 'John, go away.'

'No.' I sat next to him. 'What's wrong?'

'I need space.' He mumbled.

'Need space, or need to go do something your doctor thinks is dangerous?'

He paused. 'Honestly, both.'

'Why don't you tell me what's wrong?'

'I can't explain it. That's why.'

I sighed. 'This other thing, that's your fourth bad habit?'

He nodded. 'Yeah. Can we not talk about this now?'

'We have to talk about it sometime.' I replied softly. 'I've given it a lot of thought.'

'I don't doubt. What are your theories then?'

'Theory.' I corrected. 'Just one.'

'Give it to me.' It sounded like a challenge, like he didn't think I'd get it right.

'Well. Here's what I've got: You already smoke, drink and do drugs. You were wincing at the stables and didn't want to ride, even though you clearly love it – so it's something physical. Your doctor brought it up, and said you knew what you were doing, though it's still dangerous and not a good idea.' I took a deep breath. 'I also noticed in your bag you carry spare razor blades.'

I felt Sherlock stiffen beside me. 'Your conclusion?'

I continued reluctantly. 'Given your previous "accidental" suicidal tendencies...' my breath hitched in my throat, making my voice small and almost inaudible. 'I'd say you cut.'

There was silence. 'John...' Sherlock's voice was weak. 'This is why I didn't tell you.' He put his arm around my shoulders. 'Though I have to say, you're taking it better than I thought.'

'So you do?'

'Yes.'

A tear wound its way slowly down my cheek. 'Responsibly?'

A pause. 'Not always. I was reckless once. Nearly killed myself then as well.'

I sobbed. 'Where?' Oh. 'Never mind. Legs?'

'Legs.' He agreed. 'Thighs to be precise. It's not so obvious.'

Sherlock's thumb was rubbing circles on my arm. I tested my luck with a question. 'Can... Will you show me?'

The thumb stopped. 'Will it make you feel better?'

'Probably not.' I admitted.

The hand left my shoulder completely and I saw Sherlock stand from the corner of my eye. 'Before I do, know that I warned you. And also that the only people who have seen this are my doctors. Not Mycroft or my parents. Understood? You have been warned.'

I nodded. 'I'll be fine.'

Sherlock nodded and pulled me up to sit on the edge of his bed. He took a deep breath. 'Okay then.' He undid his belt and pulled the rim of his jeans down to his knees. He cringed.

'Oh God, Sherlock.' It was all I could say. Both of his thighs were covered in row upon row upon row of thin lines. Some short, some long, some appearing deep, some not so. They were a mixture of scars faded to a paler white than his already pale skin tone, some were still slightly pink, others were just beginning to heal. They went all the way down to about seven centimetres above his knees. From what I saw, they were also on the side on his legs, not just the front. There were so many...

Sherlock pulled his jeans back up and redid the buckle. 'I warned you.' He sat beside me again.

'Sherlock...' I pulled him into a tight embrace. 'It's okay. You can tell me anything. It doesn't change my opinion of you.'

He kissed the top of my head. 'Thank you.'

'What for?'

'Putting up with me. Understanding.'

I pulled back to look at him. 'It's my job. I love you.'

He smiled sadly. 'And I will forever thank you for it.'


	16. Scars

John had figured it out. My most guarded secret. He didn't react the way I expected him to. Just accepted it, like everything else. John still loved me despite my flaws, which I found... incredible. Naturally, he was concerned about it – asking questions I didn't want to answer: was I responsible? Where did I do it? Could he see?

I was reluctant to show him my scars, afraid they might scare him, but I came to the conclusion that if I couldn't show John, and _trust _him with it, then I might as well end it between us – the mere thought of which nearly broke me. I cringed, watching his face as he took them in. I felt so very exposed standing there, scars on full display, with his eyes running over them all, from the tops of my thighs, down to my knees and back up again. His eyes dragged over them, pausing for a short moment at the fresher cuts towards the bottom of the scarred area.

John's face contorted and he bit his lip to stop it quivering. 'Oh God, Sherlock.' His voice was quiet and pained.

I took that as a sign that I could cover them with my jeans again. 'I warned you.' I said quietly, sitting down beside him again.

'Sherlock... It's okay. You can tell me anything. It won't change my opinion of you.' He said, wrapping his arms tightly around me, almost protectively – like he could protect me from myself.

'Thank you.' I said, lightly kissing his hair.

'What for?' he asked, mumbling against my shoulder.

'Putting up with me. Understanding.'

John pulled away from me for a second to look at me. 'It's my job. I love you.'

'And I will always thank you for it.' I replied, smiling sadly.

* * *

We lay on my bed for a while, not speaking, just with our arms around each other, staring at the ceiling. John was shaking slightly, but I couldn't tell what from. The fact that I could inflict that upon myself and not issue an explanation to John as to _why _I did it? Maybe. More likely that he had not been expecting such a _multitude_ of cuts, and furthermore so many _scars_. It wasn't because I didn't trust John that I didn't tell him my reasoning, it was because there was very little he could do in attempt to stop me. Besides, anything he _could_ do, he already was – without even realising. He couldn't protect me from myself, no matter how hard he tried.

We were still lying on my bed when there was a knock at the door. 'Sherlock, are you in there?' Mycroft was home. Was it that time already? I looked to my clock. Yes, it was.

'Yeah. What do you want?' I called to him.

'How was the doctor?' he asked.

'Fine. He just checked in on my habits.'

'All four?'

'All four.' I agreed.

The door handle rattled. Thank God I had put my lock on. 'Open the door, Sherlock.' When I neither responded, nor did as he asked, he repeated it. 'Sherlock, open this door immediately.'

I sighed and peeled John's arms off me before unlocking the door and opening it a fraction. 'What do you want?'

'We should talk in my study.' He said, turning down the hall towards his study. 'Bring John if you feel you must.'

I hadn't told Mycroft that John was coming. 'How did you-'

'Oh please. Dr Steadwell called me asking who John was to you.' He called back, stepping over the threshold into his study.

I rolled my eyes. 'John, you might as well come too.' I followed Mycroft into his study and arranged myself into a chair as John appeared.

'Nice to see you again, John.' Mycroft smiled. 'I take it you're now in on Sherlock's secret, hmm?'

John nodded. 'Yeah.' His voice was quiet and his head was drooping.

'So, Sherlock. Go through it, and your progress please.' Mycroft said, leaning back and placing his hands together.

I repeated to him what I had told the doctor and waited for his next question, watching John. He was being rather quiet and playing with the hem of his jumper, tugging at a loose strand.

'How about your _unmentionable _habit?' Mycroft leaned forwards, concerned. 'You are being responsible?'

I rolled my eyes and stayed silent. John stopped fidgeting and answered Mycroft's question for me. 'Sherlock showed me his... scars.' He said quietly, looking up. 'I suppose it's responsible _enough_, but I don't like it.'

'Oh? Responsible enough?' Mycroft frowned. 'Explain.'

'I don't want to sound like I'm being a prat and telling Mycroft something I shouldn't, so Sherlock – stop me if you don't want him to know something.' He said to me, waiting for my agreement. I nodded once and John continued.

'Honestly, it scares me what he's done and is doing. The sheer scale of what he's done... I'm afraid he'll do something that he won't recover from.' He paused, as if waiting for me to interrupt. I wasn't going to. I wanted to hear this. 'I don't know how responsible he's being, but I've only noticed it _once_. But still, the fact that I know he's doing it now, I don't want him to slip up one day and go too far. I've only known for _certain _for a few hours, and already my mind has started coming up with possibilities of what _could_ happen...' he choked and looked at me. His eyes were filling. 'Sherlock, honestly. I don't know what I would do. What's going through my mind, if you one day went too far... I don't even want to think about it. I would be more than devastated. I doubt I could ever live without you now. The fact that you might one day _do _that... It scares the shit out of me. I don't want you to.' His eyes spilled over and his voice was quiet and sounded thick when he spoke next. 'I love you more than anything, but for what you do to yourself, I hate you, and I know that no matter what I could ever do or say, I know you won't stop. Even if I ask you.' He clutched his head and covered his face. 'It just scares the shit out of me, Sherlock, that I could one day find you dead somewhere from cutting yourself too deep or too much and there was nothing I could have done to stop it. I hate it.' He stood and left abruptly, and I heard my door shut loudly.

Throughout John's speech, Mycroft had started leaning back and watching us both with an expression that was a mix of pity, resignation and sadness. His eyes flicked to me as John left. 'Well, Sherlock. I think you might need to talk to John about this.'

* * *

**A/N:** Hey guys! I decided to create from cover art (ha – that's being a bit generous) because I got Photoshop and was excited to use it – though I have no idea how. NOTE: I'm not using it because I'm so ashamed. But still – cover art. If you (or someone you know) wants to create some, then please go ahead and submit it to me via my Tumblr ( .com) and I'll quite possibly use it because I can't do anything remotely arty at all. Please. It would be awesome! And, as always, thank you for your continued support and such c: **And also thank you to the lovely and wonderful Connie for beta-ing this chapter! c:**


	17. An Unexpected Visit

I was glad to find John hadn't put the lock on my door. He was laying on my bed, curled up on his side, hands clutching the pillow. I entered the room and shut the door silently, not bothering with the lock – Mycroft wouldn't disturb us. I gently climbed onto the bed and lay down in front of John, facing him.

'John?' I asked quietly. 'Are you okay?'

'No.' He said firmly, a lone tear dripping down his nose.

'John.' I wrapped my arms around him, expecting to be shrugged off. Instead, he squirmed closer to me, his head tucked under my chin.

'I know you won't,' he mumbled. 'But I want to ask anyway.'

'You want me to stop.' I said – statement, not question.

'Yes.'

I sighed and didn't reply for a few minutes. 'I can't promise anything. I'll make an effort though.'

My hand started rubbing John's back of its own accord. 'I promise. Does that help?'

'A bit.' John decided after a while.

'That's good. I truly am sorry though. That I didn't tell you.'

'It's okay. I can understand why you didn't.'

I couldn't really think of anything to say to that, so instead of answering him, I nuzzled his hair and sighed before changing the subject. 'Have you heard from your family?'

John laughed once and without humour. 'Not really. Harry emails me a lot. I got a short one from my Mum a few days after we left, but other than that, nothing.' He sniffed.

'You don't want to visit them while we're out of Axton?' I asked. I was sure he'd say no, but thought I should ask to be polite.

'Maybe.' He replied quietly. 'Harry has been asking me to for a while. She thinks that if I talk to my parents – Dad especially – maybe he'll come round like he did with her.'

'Talk to her later. We can go tomorrow if you want.'

John nodded. 'Okay. I'll get some more of my stuff while I'm there.'

'Don't feel like you have to. It was just a suggestion.'

John shook his head. 'No, I want to. I think.'

I smiled. 'Tomorrow it is then.'

* * *

John called Harry later that evening to tell her that we would be visiting the next day. Harry decided not to tell their parents this, and thought it better that we simply "turn up" as a "surprise" to them. Even though John insisted he was fine, and _wanted _to go, I could tell he was having doubts. There was a slight uneasiness to the smile plastered across his face, and John was constantly clenching and unclenching his hands.

The next morning – after much tossing and turning in bed on John's behalf – we got ready and called a cab. John was silent on the way to his house, nervously playing with his sleeve. I didn't try to make conversation.

As the car stopped across the road, John muttered, 'Oh God, oh shit.'

He climbed cautiously out of the cab as I paid the driver. 'It'll be fine, John.' I said as soothingly as I could manage. 'I'll be there.'

He laughed shakily. 'Yeah, and I'm sure my parents will be utterly _dying _to see you again.' John eyed the house and stayed across the road. 'Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.'

'Whatever gave you that impression?' I asked, rolling my eyes.

John punched me lightly on the arm. 'It was your idea.'

'Don't blame me! You agreed. I just thought it would be polite to offer.'

John sighed. 'True. Let's get this over with then, shall we?' he gripped my hand tightly and took a few deep breaths.

'If you insist.' I murmured, allowing him to lead me across.

* * *

John walked up to his door, cringing as his shoes ground against the gravel. He took a deep breath before knocking twice on his door.

A voice inside yelled, 'I got it!' and Harry opened the door. She grinned and enveloped John in her arms. 'Hey, little bro.' She released him and gave me a short hug. 'Good to see you, Sherlock.'

'Likewise.' I smiled. 'Are your parents home?'

She nodded. 'Both of them.'

I looked to John. 'There goes the whole "avoiding confrontation" thing we had going.'

He frowned. 'Maybe we should go...'

'Harry, who is it?' John's Mother walked down the hallway. 'Oh.' She stopped and looked cautiously at us. 'Hello.'

'Penny, who the hell is i?'John's father bellowed down the hall. 'What's taking so long?' His head popped through the doorway from the kitchen and I watched in vague amusement as his head turned a spectacular shade of red. 'What are you doing here.'

John followed suit after his father, going red. 'I uh...' he looked to me for support.

I sighed. 'We're here to get a few of John's things and to see Harriet.' My eyes flicked to John's face – he was shaking slightly. 'And then we have to talk.' I burst through the door, not waiting for an invitation, and stormed up the stairs with John on my heels.

John stood in the middle of his room, looking around blankly. He shook himself and grabbed a bag from the top of his closet. 'Clothes.' He muttered. 'Right. What else?' he frowned and took a few things off his shelves. 'That should about do it.' John turned to me. 'Downstairs?'

I nodded. 'Sooner or later.'

John took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders and set off determinedly out his door and back down the stairs. We found his parents and Harry in the living room. John's mother was sitting nervously on the edge of the couch, while his father paced the area between his chair and the couch, and Harry sat with her feet on the coffee table.

John's father stopped pacing when we entered and scowled. 'What exactly are you wanting to get from this?'

'Look,' John began. 'I know I didn't tell you, and the way I did was probably not how I should have, but I didn't know myself, and now that I do, and I have Sherlock, I'm-'

'You're what, happy?' his father interrupted.

'Yes, actually.' John replied indignantly.

'I don't care if you're happy or not. You _failed _me, John.' Mr Watson shook his head sadly.

John's face crumpled. 'I never failed you. Just because I'm not what you expected in a son does not mean I'm a failure.'

'Yes, it does. You disappointed me, you disappointed your mother, your entire family...'

'Excluding me.' Harry said. 'I'm happy for John. Sherlock is a good guy. Besides, Dad, your approval never really meant anything when it comes to who we may or may not love.' She shrugged. 'You got over it with me, I'm sure John won't be any different.'

'You and John are different, Harriet. Be quiet.' Mr Watson snapped.

'With all due respect, whether or not you give your approval for John, it doesn't matter.' I said, squeezing John's hand. 'I know he'd prefer it that way, but he will always have me, and I will never judge him for his choices. Whether I like them or not. You, Mr Watson, should be the same.'

'With all due respect,' he replied mockingly. 'Your opinion means nothing to me. You corrupted my son. You... and him...' his head turned a darker shade of red.

'Corrupted?' I laughed. 'I have never corrupted John in the way you are suggesting.'

'Oh really?'

'Never.' I shrugged. 'Besides, I don't see why it would matter to you if I had.'

'He's my _son_.' His voice was close to yelling.

'Maybe so.' I replied, equally as loud. 'But he's _my _boyfriend, and at the moment, it appears that I have more love for him in the nail of my smallest _finger _than you have for him in your entire _body_.'

'Are you questioning my love for my son?'

'Questioning? Not questioning. Merely stating a fact.'

'You know nothing, boy.' He spluttered.

'Dad, will you please just accept it?' John asked quietly.

'Accept it?' he shook his head. 'I'll accept it. But not your _freak _of a boyfriend.' He choked on the last word and I felt John tense at the word 'freak'.

He dropped my hand and stepped forward in front of me. 'Don't you _dare_ call Sherlock a freak.' John said menacingly.

'I'll call him whatever I like in this house. "Freak" is the most friendly thing I can think of right now.'

John took a few more steps forward until he was mere centimetres from his father. 'I don't appreciate your insulting my boyfriend.'

'I don't care. Your _fre-_' he didn't get to finish the sentence. John's fist swung and hit his father on the jaw, knocking Mr Watson off balance and clutching at his face.

'John-' I pulled him back behind me and stood protectively between him and his enraged father. 'I think we'll leave now.'

'Sherlock-'

'No, John.' I turned towards Harry and Mrs Watson – one watching amusedly, and one watching utterly horrified. 'Sorry to have ruined your afternoon. Harriet.' I nodded to her and exited the room, pulling John with me as I left the house. Once we were clear, I called a cab and wrapped my arms around John. 'Thank you.'

'Welcome.'

'You didn't have to.' I replied softly, kissing his temple.

'I don't like people calling you a freak.' He mumbled.

'I know.'

He shuddered. 'Something tells me I won't be back for a while.'

'I think you'd probably be right about that.' I agreed.


	18. Debutantes, Dances and Disguise

**A/N: **Hellooooo everyone c: Just a small note: firstly, sorry this took longer than usual - I had a lot of homework (I still do but we're not talking about that shhh) - and I got a bit distracted by accidentally starting a new Teen!Lock. Whoops. Also, if you're looking for a piece of music for this chapter, I'd recommend 'Doomsday' by Murray Gold. And yes, I know it's from the Doctor Who soundtrack. But i think it goes pretty well with the later parts of this chapter. Anyhoo, happy reading! c:

* * *

We arrived back at Axton late Sunday afternoon. John was still in a bit of a mood after his confrontation with his parents. The rest of the school was in full preparation mode for the Semi-formal dance the next weekend, and there were girls running up and down halls excitedly, screaming about who they had as a date. John and I were lethargic in comparison to everyone else. We were sitting in our – now shared – bedroom, discussing the dance, when there was a quick knock on the door.

John got up and a few moments later, Molly bustled in. 'Guess what!' she squealed.

'What?' John asked, leaning against the foot of the bed.

'I have a date for the dance!' she clapped her hands together excitedly. 'Rich asked me, and I couldn't turn him down! He was quite insistent.'

From my position on the bed, I saw John's face twitch into a small frown, but it quickly disappeared. 'Cool.' He smiled. 'Have you got a dress yet?'

She nodded. 'I was planning to go by myself if no one asked, but now Rich is going to get a few things to match me and... Ugh. It's going to be amazing!' she gushed.

I rolled my eyes. 'Lovely.'

John turned his head and briefly gave me a reprimanding expression. 'What he means is "congratulations".'

'No I don't.' I muttered.

Molly's smile faltered slightly. 'Well, Sherlock, it's a good thing you aren't the one going with him then.' She turned sharply and I heard the door slam shut after her.

'It's not a good idea for her to go with Moriarty.'

John sighed, crawling onto the bed and resting against me. 'It's not your decision though, is it?'

'Well... No.' I shrugged. 'Can't say I didn't warn you.'

* * *

The days went by quickly and soon it was the Friday afternoon before Saturday's dance. John seemed to be excited as well, which he showed by – more or less – bobbing around everywhere with a grin plastered across his face. We went to bed early, at about 10.30pm, and John went straight to his usual position of lying with his head nestled on my shoulder.

He sighed contently. 'I'm excited for tomorrow.' John said quietly.

'I don't see why.' I replied, tracing patterns lightly across his arm.

'Tomorrow, everyone will know you're _mine_.' He kissed the underside of my jaw – one of the only places he could reach.

'Mm, maybe. You'll also be in the firing line.'

'I don't care.' He said fiercely. 'I don't care what they think. Their opinions don't influence me.'

I smiled in spite of myself. 'John Watson. The little soldier. Fighting for his beliefs.'

John nodded emphatically. 'You're all that matters to me now.'

'And you for me also.' I buried my face in his hair.

'We should sleep.' John yawned. 'Tomorrow is going to be a _long_ day.'

'It is.' I planted a light kiss in his hair. 'Goodnight then.'

'Mm... Night.' John wriggled closer, and I could feel him smiling against my bare skin.

* * *

I woke earlier than John the next morning. In fact, I woke earlier than most people. It was just after 6am when I wandered down to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and an apple to take back to my dorm room. I was surprised to see someone else already in the dining room when I got there. The person froze and turned around. A grin spread slowly across his face.

'Morning, Sherly.'

'Moriarty.' I said in greeting, walking straight past him.

'Oh, no no no.' He tutted. 'I'm Rich Brook, remember?'

'Oh yes. How stupid of me.' I poured some coffee into a disposable paper cup and selected an apple from the pile.

'Yes. How stupid of you.' Moriarty kicked his feet up onto a nearby chair. 'I quite like John. Good roommate, I suppose?'

'Mm. Very good. Keeps to himself mainly.' I sipped my coffee. 'Though I don't know what it matters to you.'

'I _like_ him.' Moriarty repeated, rolling his eyes. 'Platonic relationship between you two then?'

'Completely.'

Moriarty cocked his head and smiled. 'But we both know that's not _quite _true.'

'It's none of your business.' I replied, heading for the door.

As I walked past him again, his fingers brushed lightly against my thigh. 'I'll see you tonight then, love.'

'Can't wait.' I replied, going through the doors and up the stairs.

* * *

John was still in bed when I got back. He was half-awake though. 'Sherlock?' he asked drowsily. 'Where did you go?'

'Just down to get some coffee. And an apple.'

'Mm. Kay. Come back?' he shuffled slightly and pulled the covers back to emphasise his point.

I climbed back in carefully, and tugged the covers over us again. John wriggled closer to me, and put his head against my chest. 'Mm. Good.' He took a deep breath and giggled as he exhaled.

'What?' I asked quietly.

'You didn't happen to have had a cigarette as well did you?'

'Why do you ask?'

'You smell a bit like smoke as well.'

'Oh. Well, no. I haven't this morning.'

'Okay.' He sighed. 'What's the time?'

'Just about 7.'

John made a disgusted sound. 'Screw that. I'm not getting up for another few hours at least.'

'We actually have to go to town before tonight.'

'Why?'

'Apparently they changed the theme. It's now a Masquerade ball. We need masks.'

'Hah.' He snorted. 'When do you want to go then?'

'Any time. You can still sleep in.'

'I don't want to sleep in if you're just going to leave me.'

I wrapped my arms around John's shoulders. 'I'm happy to stay for a bit.'

'Good.' He growled, snuggling even closer. 'I hate when you do that.'

* * *

The dance started at 7.30pm, so John disappeared into the bathroom at about 6pm, so that he would have enough time to get ready. When he came out in a towel at 6.30, I went in the shower and was completely finished – suited and all – by just after 7pm. John was still fretting with his hair and various parts of his suit when the clock announced it to be 7.25 – an alarm John had set to make sure he was ready. We grabbed our masks off the table and headed down and out to the school's rarely used ballroom.

At the door, our names were checked off, and we were ushered inside. John elbowed me, and we put our masks on – as required by a large sign beside the doors. John grabbed my hand as we stepped through to the darkened room, vibrating from the bass of the DJ's music selection.

We searched the room, and saw a small table set in the corner, away from everything else. John dragged me through the maze of tables and people standing around to make sure we claimed the table. We sat in the chairs, and John pulled his as close to mine as it would get.

'Are you okay?' I asked.

'Mm. Fine. Just uh... Freaking out a little.'

'Why, what are you planning to do? Go up to the microphone and out yourself?'

'Not quite.' He muttered.

'John.' I warned.

'Mm?'

'What are you going to do?'

He grinned. 'You'll see.'

* * *

After several torturous hours, John pulled me up by the hand and hauled me to the dance floor. The music playing was something popular with the crowd that had a heavy bass line. Despite this, John wound his arms around me and started slow dancing, giving me no room to escape and leaving me with no option but to join in. People around us started to notice we were there, and gave us weird looks – like maybe we had had too many glasses of "non-alcoholic" punch.

John pulled my head down to whisper in my ear. 'This is my plan.'

'What, to whisper in my ear while we're dancing?'

'I want them to know you're mine.' He growled. 'I want them to talk.'

'Well then.' I smiled. 'Shall we give them something to talk about?'

John barely had the chance to say 'What?' before I crushed our mouths together. I felt his fingers tangle in my hair and pull me down closer to him. 'Oh.' He giggled, breaking away for air before engaging in another round of feverish kissing on the dance floor. People around us gasped audibly and I smiled against John's lips, knowing that we had achieved what we had set out to – despite the danger I knew John would now face from the rest of the student body.

A while later, John broke away again, and led me back to our table. He pushed me into a chair and grinned. 'That went well, I think. I'm going to the bathroom then I'll be right back. Stay.'

I nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

I watched as John disappeared into the crowd and sighed, tipping my head against the wall. What felt like only moments later, someone appeared over me, blocking out the very little light that reached the corner.

'That was fast.' I murmured as John pulled me up. As soon as I was standing, he pulled me down and kissed me. I could tell something was wrong though. Whenever John and I kissed, his fingers were always knotted in my hair. This time, his hands were just placed lightly on my jaw. A couple of seconds after this realisation, my fears were confirmed. Something was horribly wrong.

'Sherlock?' John asked, confused.

The person I had been kissing was not John. John was talking. He was not kissing me. The hands left my face and a small figure darted away, leaving me standing alone, with John looking at me, a hurt expression on his face. No, not hurt. Even in _this_ lighting I could tell – it was something much worse than hurt. More than betrayal. John looked like I had ripped out his heart, set it on fire, and was now dancing around, watching him die as his heart burnt.

'Sherlock?' he repeated. 'What... Who...' his lower lip trembled and he shook his head, turning away and going off back the way he came.

John. _John. _John was leaving. I commanded my feet to run after him, and thankfully they obeyed. As my stride was longer than John's I caught up to him just as he was leaving the doors and heading into the crisp night air. I grabbed his arm, and he shook it off, turning to face me. He had torn his mask off, and tears were beginning to flow down his cheeks.

'John, wait.' I pulled my mask off.

'No, Sherlock!' he yelled. 'What the hell was that?! More importantly, WHO was that?!'

'I don't know!' I cried. 'I thought it was you!'

John laughed cruelly. 'Uh huh. Of course. Yeah. Why wouldn't you?'

'John, please-'

'No, Sherlock!'

'John, it wasn't my fault-'

'How many other people have you been kissing behind my back?'

'No one! I swear, John. I thought it was you! It was dark, and that person was your height...'

'I don't believe that.' John said venomously.

'John, I beg you. Please. Believe me. I love you. You know I would _never_ do anything to hurt you.'

'Sherlock, don't try that speech.' John shook his head.

'No, John, it's the TRUTH. You KNOW it is!' I cried desperately. Everything I was saying – it wasn't making a difference. John didn't believe me. I could feel my life falling apart. The one person I loved was leaving me. 'John... please.' I said brokenly.

'No, Sherlock.' He wiped the tears from his face and walked off into the distance.

I watched him disappear. A small flash of light appeared in his hands, but faded as he went behind a tree and around the corner.

I spun as I heard whistling behind me. Moriarty grinned at me. 'I see why your pet likes you.' He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief from his suit pocket. 'You're a good kisser, Sherly.'

'You...' my jaw dropped.

'Me.' He smiled.

'Why?' I asked, regaining slight composure.

'I like your boyfriend.' He shrugged. 'And so, your "platonic" relationship has to get destroyed.'

'Do you always get what you want?'

'Always. No matter what has to happen.'

'What was the point? Breaking up myself and John?'

'Like I said. I like your boyfriend.' his eyes flashed. 'For now, I'll settle for being a rebound until a more... permanent... position is opened.' He grinned. 'But right now, love, I have to get back to my date.' Moriarty rolled his eyes. 'Molly can be a bit enthusiastic can't she?' he turned and walked back into the ballroom.

* * *

When I got back to my dorm room, John hadn't returned. I doubted he would. He didn't me believe me that it was an accident. He would unlikely want to talk to me again. How stupid could I have been? I shook my head angrily and threw my mask against the wall. I stripped off my suit and it fell into a haphazard stack beside my feet. I couldn't believe that John had just _left_. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to believe me...

I went into the bathroom and stood over the sink. After a moment's hesitation, I searched through the drawers beside the sink for what I wanted. Blades.

* * *

When I woke up, I didn't know where I was. The ceiling above me was white and tiled, and in my peripheral vision, I could see more white. I lifted my head and looked down at my wrists then down to my thighs – they were covered in thick white bandages. I looked around the room, and saw a familiar head over the top of a newspaper.

'Mycroft?' I croaked.

The newspaper folded down. 'Sherlock.' He shut the newspaper and pulled his chair up to the bedside. 'Do you know what day it is?'

'Hoping it's only Sunday.'

'Wrong.' Mycroft frowned. 'It's Wednesday.'

I shut my eyes and dropped my head to the pillow. 'Crap.'

'Mhmm.' The chair creaked as he leant backwards. 'You should be damn thankful that John came back to you.'

My eyes snapped open. 'What?'

Mycroft sighed. 'John. He told me what happened between you two. After he saw you, he went and walked around the campus for about an hour. When he got back to your dorm, he had decided you were right and that you _had _thought you were kissing him. He went to apologise to you.' He sighed again. 'Imagine how he felt when he found you in the shower, lying in a pool of your own blood, with barely a pulse.'

'Oh God.' I whispered. 'I didn't think he'd come back.'

'Sherlock, you underestimated his feelings for you.' Mycroft replied sternly. 'Want to know what John did then?'

I nodded, biting my lip nervously.

'He stemmed the weak – _very _weak – flow by tying strips of his shirt around your cuts, then called Molly who brought a teacher directly to you and called an ambulance as well. He sat, holding you in the shower, in his suit. When the ambulance arrived, he wouldn't leave you. John rode in the ambulance beside you, holding your hand, wearing his blood-soaked suit. He called me from the hospital.' Mycroft leant forward. 'John saved your life. He hasn't left your bedside for days.'

'How did he get your number? Where is he now?' I asked.

'Seeing as he can't go home, he's with Mummy at our house. She flew back from France to look after him.' He raised his eyebrow. 'And as for how he got my number, I gave it to him.'

'_Gave _it to him?' I asked incredulously.

'Yes. I gave him the number I can always be reached on. I told him that should you be in danger, to call me immediately, regardless of time – day or night.'

'When will he be back?'

'About an hour, I should think. He slept here every night since you got here. He refused to leave.'

'Mycroft?'

'Mm?'

'Are you going to send me back to rehab again?'

Mycroft shook his head. 'No. This time, I won't. You know, when you were being cleaned up, it was the first time I had seen your scars...'

I cringed and rolled onto my side.

'I don't understand you, Sherlock.'

'Wake me up when John gets back.' I muttered, closing my eyes and hoping for sleep.


	19. Staying Put

**A/N: **Hello - again. This one is just a short chapter, because I decided to backtrack a little... Anyhoo - I've nearly finished the next chapter (already - chose the next chapter over homework - not a good idea) so that will be up soon. Really soon. Like, an hour. BUT ENJOY THIS IS THE MEAN TIME!

* * *

I didn't fall asleep like I had hoped. Now that I knew what John had done... My brain was working overtime. John had come back. John had held me. John had sat in a pool of my blood and held me. He had held my hand on the ambulance. John had saved me. He had come back, and according to Mycroft, John had forgiven me.

I heard Mycroft leave the room and call someone – he was speaking quietly in the hallway, apparently not wanting to go too far from me. He came back in after a few minutes, and I thought no more of it until a little while later when the sound of footsteps began to be heard. I rolled onto my back and pushed myself into a half sitting position. My thighs ached. My own fault.

A head popped around the corner of my door. 'Sherlock.' My mother tutted, and walked swiftly to my bedside before giving me a short hug. 'That was not your smartest move, was it?'

I rolled my eyes. 'Where is John?' I asked quietly.

He must have heard. John stepped into the doorway. 'Hey.'

Mycroft stood. 'Shall we get coffee, Mummy?'

She nodded and kissed me on the forehead. 'We'll give you two some time.' She smiled gently as she followed Mycroft out.

John came into the room and shut the door. He didn't move from his post beside the door, and stood, watching me.

'John, please say something.' I begged. The silence was getting to me.

He shook his head, but moved and sat on the foot of my bed. 'There's nothing to say.'

'John-'

'Sherlock.' He silenced me. 'This was the thing I was most scared of.' He shut his eyes, as if he couldn't bear to look at me. 'I told you I didn't want to lose you. I told you it scared the shit out of me. I told you. And then you went and did... _that_.'

I nodded. 'I'm so sorry, John. I thought...'

'Thought what?' he asked harshly. 'That I would _leave _you? It crossed my mind, yeah. But I figured that you wouldn't have done that by choice unless you thought it was me. It was stupid, really. You don't even have friends, and there I thought you were cheating on me.'

'John... I'm sorry.' I repeated.

He nodded. 'Me too.' John got up, and I thought he was going to leave, but instead, he moved closer to me, and sat right beside me. 'I can't believe you would do that.' He mumbled, encompassing me in his arms.

My arms instinctively responded by wrapping themselves around John. 'I love you.' I murmured.

'I love you too, Sherlock.' He placed a light kiss on my shoulder. 'But if you _ever_ do that again, I swear, Sherlock. I won't come back. If you _ever_ leave me again, there is no second chance. Got it?'

I nodded. 'Got it. No second chance.'

* * *

For the next few days, I was forced to stay in hospital. Of course, my episodes in rehab and why I had been put there were on my sheet. The staff always looked strangely at me when they came in to check on me. Apparently I had gained somewhat of a reputation.

John visited me daily, and had left school until I was going back. He told me it was because he didn't want to be apart from me – but I think that was only part of the reason. He knew that if he went back to school without me, now everyone knew about us, that he would get _hell_ from them. Apart from Molly that is. And "Rich" – who apparently also knew John's secret.

I decided not to tell him about my encounter with Moriarty. He was seemingly convinced that Rich was real and Moriarty was a different person, even though he told me different. Besides – it was Moriarty that had decided to make out with me at the dance, and no matter _who_ John thought he was – it would piss him off to no end.

I finally got told I was being discharged on Saturday, but seeing as it was the weekend, John and I decided to stay in London for a couple of days. I was given orders not to do anything "strenuous", so John and I stayed in my room for the entire weekend. We didn't really do much – not even much talking – but I could tell that what had happened was still on John's mind. I asked him about it, but he refused to answer and just sniffed loudly then started drawing patterns on my arms with the tip of his finger.

On Sunday night, Mycroft came into my bedroom to tell us that we would be going back to Axton the next morning, but we would have the day off to "settle in" and "get any affairs in order" before returning to normal lessons.

John and I went to bed earlier than usual, and fell asleep immediately, despite the nerves I knew we both harboured.


	20. Fragility

**A/N: **As promised (kind of), here's the next chapter. There's a fair bit of backtracking, but seeing as it's from a different point of view (a.k.a John's) I felt it was necessary to, because well... Sherlock wasn't conscious for a lengthy period of the last one. So, this is essentially what happened while he was "out". But here it is!

* * *

'That went well, I think. I'm going to the bathroom then I'll be right back. Stay.' I grinned.

Sherlock nodded sagely. 'Yes, sir.'

I turned off and wandered into the crowd, in the general direction of the bathrooms. Unfortunately, when I got there, the room and outside area were both full of people. Mainly couples that were indistinguishable from each other. 'Brilliant.' I muttered before turning back the way I had come.

As blocked as I was by groups of writhing bodies, I managed to get back to the table Sherlock and I had chosen relatively fast.

I stopped. Sherlock wasn't alone. A small figure was attached to Sherlock's face – hands and lips. 'Sherlock?' What was going on?

Sherlock froze and turned his head. The figure detached itself and ran away into the darkness. I stared at him. I don't know what expression was on my face, but it was barely a glimpse of what I felt. Betrayal and hurt didn't even _begin _to cover it. I had given Sherlock my heart, and now it was like he had thrown it into a pit of fire and was laughing at me.

'Sherlock?' I repeated. He hadn't responded. 'What... Who...' my lip quivered unwillingly, and I turned my heel and left. I tore my mask off and I walked swiftly through the lobby and out into the night. The air was cold and stung my cheeks, which were wet with tears I had not permitted.

A hand grabbed my arm. 'John, wait.'

'No, Sherlock! What the hell was that?! More importantly, WHO was that?!' I yelled with surprising force as I spun around.

'I don't know! I thought it was you!'

I laughed. 'Uh huh. Of course. Yeah. Why wouldn't you?'

'John, please-' he started.

'No, Sherlock!'

'John, it wasn't my fault-' Sherlock tried again.

'How many other people have you been kissing behind my back?' A question I didn't want the answer for.

'No one! I swear, John. I thought it was you! It was dark, and that person was about your height...' he faltered, realising how weak that sounded.

'I don't believe that.'

'John, I beg you. Please. Believe me. I love you. You know I would never do anything to hurt you.'

'Sherlock, don't try that speech.' _I don't want to hear it._

'No, John, it's the TRUTH. You KNOW it is!' he cried. His usual composure was falling apart. Sherlock was breaking. 'John... please.'

'No, Sherlock.' I wiped the tears off my face and pulled my phone from my pocket as I walked away. A message had come through.

_New Message Received: Rich Brook_

_Hey, everything okay? –RB x_

_No. I just... Don't want to talk about it. –JW_

I typed quickly, wiping water off the screen. Tears? Rain? I didn't know.

_Okay. There's a spare bed in my room if you need somewhere to sleep tonight. –RB x_

_Thanks. –JW_

I walked around the grounds for a while. The air helped clear my head. Maybe what Sherlock was saying was true. To be honest, the idea of Sherlock _cheating _on me would require him finding someone at the school who didn't despise him. Molly was a girl, so she was off the list, and there was no one else. I checked the time on my phone. Just after 11pm. Sherlock would still be up. I needed to talk to him.

I walked back towards the dorm, and dug my key out of my pocket. I climbed the stairs quickly and unlocked the door, pushing it open tentatively.

'Sherlock?' I called quietly. 'Are you here?'

His phone was on his chair. Sherlock was here. Just not answering me for some reason. Surely, he wasn't mad at _me _now?

I pulled my jacket off and threw it over my chair with my mask. I went to our bedroom and saw his suit in a pile on the floor. 'Sherlock...' I called again. I went quietly to the bathroom.

'Oh Jesus.' I staggered backwards and clutched the doorframe. '_Oh, Jesus._' I ran forwards.

Sherlock. Blood. Shower. Razor. Sherlock. Cuts. Blood. Pale. Sherlock. No. _No. NO! _

I pulled my shirt off and tore a few strips off the bottom, then wrapped them like tourniquets around his elbows and the tops of his thighs. I checked for a pulse at his wrist. I didn't feel one. _Oh Jesus, Sherlock_. I put my hand in front of his mouth. _Yes_. A small exhalation tickled the underside of my hand. I knelt in the shower, ignoring the blood that was soaking into my pants and pulled Sherlock's head onto my lap. I tugged my phone from my pocket and called Molly – putting her on speakerphone while I wrapped more strips of my shirt around Sherlock's cuts.

'Yeah, yeah. John. Give me a second.' She giggled. 'Okay, talk. What's up?'

'Molly?! Can you hear me?!' I cried.

'Yeah, what's wrong?' she sounded concerned.

'Sherlock... Oh God, Molly. He... He's tried to kill himself. Bring a teacher to our room NOW. Don't ask questions,' I said quickly as she tried to interrupt. 'I'm calling an ambulance. BRING SOMEONE. I DON'T CARE WHO, BUT I WILL NOT LET HIM DIE ON ME.' I yelled, slamming my hand onto the phone.

I dialled the emergency number, and waited for someone to pick up. 'Hello, how may I help?'

'I need an ambulance. Immediately. My boyfriend... He's tried to kill himself... So much blood...' I faltered.

'Sir, I'll need you to calm down. What's happened? Where are you?' the operator asked gently.

'Axton Academy. Payton Hall. Room 221b. My boyfriend. He's cut himself. Deep. Very deep.' I took a breath.

'Okay. I'm sending an ambulance right now. How old are you both? Still at school?' she asked – trying to keep me from freaking out I suppose.

'Yeah, we're sixteen.'

'Sixteen. Right. Does your boyfriend have a history of self-harm?'

'Unfortunately. Self-harm, drugs, alcohol, smoking.' I recited. 'Just please. Hurry. He's so pale and there's so much blood...'

'How long do you think he's been bleeding for?' she asked. 'Axton is a fair while from London, so we may have to send a helicopter. Axton has a helipad?'

'Airstrip, yes. Helipad, I don't know. Probably. Um. He's probably been going for... God, I don't know!' I cried desperately.

At that moment, thankfully, Molly ran in with a teacher – Mrs Hudson, the day dorm keeper. She picked up my phone and began talking with the operator. And I was more than glad that she had. I was going to crack at any moment.

I sat, kneeling in Sherlock's blood, with his head on my lap, rocking back and forth. _No. _There was no way I would let him die. 'Sherlock...' I sobbed. 'Sherlock, no...' I stroked his matted hair from his face. 'Sherlock, come back to me...' Tears ran down my face for the second time that night. They splashed onto Sherlock's and made trails through the blood on his face.

'John,' a hand touched my shoulder. 'An ambulance is on its way. They were called out to the town a few minutes away to a false alarm. They should be here any minute now.' Molly said, trying to sound reassuring. 'John, it's going to be okay.'

'No,' I sobbed. 'Sherlock. He can't leave me. He can't do this to me. He can't!' I stroked his neck and put my hands protectively around him, like they might try to take Sherlock from me.

Suddenly, there was an eruption of noise, and I was being hauled off Sherlock. 'NO!' I screeched. 'SHERLOCK!'

'John, calm down!' Mrs Hudson's arms were around my torso. She was surprisingly strong. 'Let them do their job. You can go in the ambulance, okay?' she handed me my phone. 'You'll need to make some calls, I assume.'

'He's not going to die!' I sobbed. 'He's not! He can't!'

'I know, I know.' She said gently. 'To let his family know what happened.'

'Let's move!' yelled someone from the bathroom. Sherlock came out past me, hooked up onto things I couldn't identify. 'If you're coming, now's good!' the same person said as they ran past.

Mrs Hudson released me and I sprinted off after them.

* * *

I was shoved in the back of an ambulance with Sherlock and a paramedic who was monitoring him. I held Sherlock's hand tightly and prayed to every God I could think of that Sherlock would be okay. That what I had done was enough to save him. The driver sped through the countryside and to a hospital – _'St Bartholomew's' _I read on a sign as we entered. Sherlock was whisked off to a room marked _"Authorised Personnel Only" _and his hand was ripped from mine. I was left standing as a curtain was drawn shut around him, blocking my view.

A nurse guided me to a seat and pushed me gently into it. She wrapped an orange blanket around me and gave me some water before leaving to continue her job.

I pulled my phone out and dialled a number I never thought I would use.

'John?'

'Mycroft. Oh God.'

'John, what's wrong? What happened?'

'Sherlock...' my voice trembled. 'Oh God.'

'Sherlock what, John? Is he okay?' Mycroft sounded worried. I could hear him bustling around in the background. Maybe I was on speaker.

'No. No, he's not. Most certainly not.' A sob erupted.

'John, where are you?'

'St Bartholomew's Hospital. I did everything I could...'

'Where is Sherlock? I'm coming right now.'

'He's... They're trying to save him.' My voice broke.

'What happened?' I heard an engine start up.

'He... Mm... We had a fight.' Oh God. What if he died? The last thing I had said to him, was denying him the chance to speak. 'I don't want him to die, Mycroft. I... I can't. I won't. I...'

'John, what did Sherlock do?' the engine sped up.

'He... Sherlock... He cut himself. Deep. There was so much blood... I...'

'John, I'm here. I'll be right in.' The phone hung up and a few moments later, Mycroft walked into the lobby where I was. 'John, are you okay?' he genuinely looked and sounded concerned.

I started to nod, but then stopped and shook my head furiously. 'He... Sherlock is going to die. And it's my fault.'

Mycroft frowned and spoke to the nurse at the desk. After what looked like a minor disagreement, she stalked into the room where Sherlock was, and came back out a few minutes later. She spoke to Mycroft again, and looked pityingly at me.

Mycroft sighed as he sat beside me. 'He lost a lot of blood. Narrowly avoided his femoral arteries. What you did helped. They think Sherlock will be able to pull through. It's not your fault.'

'Yes it is.' I replied sadly.

'Tell me why.'

After barely a second's hesitation, I told Mycroft everything. He nodded when I was done. 'Well, my brother has always been rather strong-willed.'

* * *

I don't know how long Mycroft sat in the waiting room with me. I don't know how long it took to get Sherlock stable. I don't know if Sherlock's heart ever stopped. I don't know if they were ever able to revive him. All I _did _know, what that Sherlock couldn't die on me. He couldn't just leave me. I wouldn't let him. If Sherlock died, then most definitely part – if not all – of me would die with him.

I felt like I was in some sort of limbo. Someone came out of the room Sherlock was in to talk to Mycroft. They were right beside me, but I heard nothing they said.

Mycroft tapped me on the shoulder, and I saw he was standing. 'He's okay. They're moving him to a ward now.'

I nodded, standing and followed him down a series of corridors. Mycroft led me into a small room and smiled sadly at me. 'Remember that he's going to be fine.' He opened the door and ushered me in.

There was a bed in the centre of the room. On it was Sherlock. Or what I assumed was Sherlock. He was incredibly pale, and his hair stood out against the stark white sheets. Around his wrists – and I assumed around his thighs as well – were swathes of bandages. There was an oxygen tube in his nose, and an assortment of other things on him.

All that registered to me was how _pale _he was. 'Oh God, Sherlock.' I murmured, pulling a chair up beside him. 'How long will it take? For him to wake up?' I asked Mycroft.

He shrugged. 'They don't know. Maybe tonight, maybe a few days.'

'I'm not leaving him.' I said immediately. 'I don't care how long it takes. I'm not leaving him.'

'John, you'll have to-'

'No. I don't care. I'm staying as long as he is.' I said defiantly.

'You can't stay here the whole time. You'll need to shower.' He coughed. 'You are covered in Sherlock's blood...'

'I don't want him to be alone.' I said quietly.

Mycroft nodded. 'I know. I'll call our Mother and get her to come down from France.'

'Why?'

'Don't argue, but you'll need someone to look after you. Someone who can be here when you aren't.' He pulled a key from his pocket and gave it to me. 'That's the key to our house. Seeing as I don't think you'll be going back to your parents' any time soon, you'll need somewhere to stay and shower. Sherlock might tell you differently,' Mycroft said, looking endearingly down at Sherlock. 'But we are not enemies and I'll do anything I can to help him – or you.' He sighed. 'I worry about Sherlock. Constantly. You're good for him.'

I nodded. 'Thank you.'

'No, John. Thank _you_. I'm going to go home now. I have work in the morning. But I'll call Mother and get her back from France. I'll also have someone bring you some... clean... clothes tomorrow. Goodnight, John.'

'Night, Mycroft.'_**  
**_


	21. Waiting

Sometime during the night, I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke up – the orange blanket had been re-draped over me and someone had left a note along with some pillows explaining that the armchair in the corner was more comfortable than my "current" position. Instead of taking this advice, I readjusted my position in the chair and stayed where I was.

Around noon the next day, a young woman knocked on the door. She gave me a bag and explained it was from Mycroft. Apparently, it contained fresh clothes, some food and plastic bags for the clothes I had slept in. The woman waited while I changed into the new clothes – t-shirt and jeans – and took the remainder of my suit off to be cleaned. She also told me that Mycroft had called his and Sherlock's Mother and that she was on her way from France already.

I was so tired that I fell asleep not soon after while holding Sherlock's hand. I woke up again around 4pm with a stiff neck and back. Sherlock's mother had arrived.

She gave me a brief hug. 'Hello again, John.'

'Hi, Mrs Holmes.' I returned her embrace awkwardly with one arm.  
'It's good to see you, though it's unfortunate it wasn't under happier pretences.' She sat in the armchair and crossed her legs. 'Mycroft told me everything that happened. And that he gave you a key.'  
I nodded. 'Do you want it back..?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Why? You'll need it.'

'Oh. Right. Sorry if I ended your trip in France early.'

'It's fine. France I can go to any time.' Mrs Holmes waved her hand dismissively. 'Besides, you need someone other than Mycroft to take care of you at the moment.'

'Thank you.'

'You don't need to thank me, John.' She smiled. 'I'm just doing what a mother does for her sons.'

* * *

One day passed. Then two, then three. It was Tuesday. Sherlock had had his... slipup... on Saturday night. Every day so far, I had diligently sat beside Sherlock, holding his hand and talking to him. Not that there was ever a response. There was an occasional twitch of the eye, or movement of a finger, but never anything more. Every night, I slept on the chair in the corner in case Sherlock woke up during the night. Every morning, Mrs Holmes came in, gave me some money to catch a cab to the house, and sat with Sherlock while I wasn't there, and every time when I came back – Sherlock was exactly as I had left him. Mrs Holmes tried – and failed to convince me to sleep overnight at the house, but I couldn't face sleeping there without Sherlock.

Tuesday morning, Mrs Holmes came in and sat on my "bed". 'Why don't you sleep at the house tonight?'

I began to object, but she stopped me. 'I know you don't want to sleep in Sherlock's room. I've had one of the guest rooms made up. You can sleep there. It's likely to be more comfortable than this chair.'

'Thank you, but I really think I should stay here.'

'Mycroft has offered to stay here tonight. Sherlock won't be alone.'

'Oh... I still want to stay.'

Mrs Holmes gave a sigh. 'John, do you think Sherlock would approve of your staying here every night? Not taking care of yourself?'

'Probably not.' I admitted. 'I don't want to be a hassle though.'

'John.' She said sternly. 'You are as _far _from a hassle as can be.'

I looked uneasily at Sherlock's unconscious form. 'Okay then. Just tonight.'

'Good. Do you want to head over to the house now? Or do you want to wait until we go back later?'

'I'll just wait until later. Saves money and petrol.'

She nodded and stood. 'Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you want some coffee? Tea?'

'Tea would be nice, yeah. Thanks.'

* * *

Mycroft arrived to take my place at about 8pm. 'Good evening, John. Mummy.' He sat in the other chair and pulled out a newspaper.

'Evening, Mycroft. John? Shall we go?' Mrs Holmes was already up and at the door, poised to leave.

I nodded reluctantly. 'Call if he wakes up?' I asked Mycroft. 'No matter what time, you'll call?'

'Of course. I'll call you immediately.'

'Thank you, Mycroft. For staying as well.'

He shrugged and began reading his newspaper.

I kissed Sherlock lightly on the forehead and placed his hand gently by his side. 'Wake up soon. I love you.' I whispered to him. 'As _soon_ as he wakes up.' I added loudly, directed at Mycroft.

I saw him roll his eyes behind his newspaper. '_Yes_, John. Go. I'll call you.'

'Okay. Just checking.' I looked reluctantly at Sherlock again. 'Let's go.'

* * *

'John? John, Mycroft just called.' Mrs Holmes called up the stairs. It was about 9am, Wednesday. Despite my not wanting to, I had slept in Sherlock's room. I had fallen asleep at about midnight after realising I wouldn't be able to function if I didn't sleep at all.

'Did he wake up?' I replied.

'Just a few minutes ago. Are you ready to leave?'

'I just need my coat. I'll be right down.' I grabbed the green jacket Sherlock had given me for Christmas and ran down the hall and stairs to the lobby.

We drove as fast as the law – and traffic – deemed possible, and were at the hospital a short while later. I walked swiftly through the halls to Sherlock's room.

Mrs Holmes went in before me, poking her head around the corner. 'Sherlock.' I heard her say. 'That was not your smartest move, was it?'

'Where is John?' he asked.

'Hey.' I said, stepping into the doorway.

Mycroft stood up and put a folded newspaper on his chair. 'Shall we get coffee, Mummy?'

She nodded and pecked Sherlock on the forehead. 'We'll give you two some time.' She smiled and followed Mycroft out.

'John, please say something.' Sherlock said after a few minutes.

I shook my head, and sat on the foot of his bed. 'There's nothing to say.' Funny. I thought after the amount of time I had spent worrying about him, that I would have a more... emotional reaction to his waking up.

'John-' he began.

'Sherlock.' I interrupted, cutting him off. 'This was the thing I was most scared of.' I shut my eyes. 'I told you I didn't want to lose you. I told you it scared the shit out of me. I _told_ you. And then you went and did... that.'

'I'm so sorry, John. I thought...'

'Thought what?' I asked. 'That I would leave you? It crossed my mind, yeah. But I figured that you wouldn't have done that by choice unless you thought it was me. It was stupid, really. You don't even have friends, and there I thought you were cheating on me.' I barely contained a laugh.

'John... I'm sorry.'

I nodded. 'Me too.' I moved up the bed to sit beside him. 'I can't believe you would do that.' I pulled him into my arms and felt his move around me.

'I love you.' He mumbled into my jumper.

'I love you too, Sherlock.' I kissed his exposed shoulder. 'But if you ever do that again, I swear, Sherlock. I won't come back. If you ever leave me again, there is no second chance. Got it?'

He nodded. 'Got it. No second chance.'

* * *

Sherlock was kept in hospital for a few more days under observation. He was discharged the next Saturday under precise instructions from his doctor not to do "anything too strenuous", which was followed with a dirty look in my direction. He probably expected us to arrive back at Sherlock's house and do something _extremely _"strenuous". But of course, that was unlikely to happen. Sherlock had decided we weren't going to be doing that for a while apparently.

We got home, and did barely anything for the entire weekend. We mostly just lay in silence on Sherlock's bed, not even talking.

I still couldn't believe how close I had come to losing him. He had known _exactly _what scared me the most. Sherlock's bad habits were eating away at me. Not just him, oh no – me too. The drinking I could manage, the smoking too. Drugs – if I had no option. Besides, I knew he had been clean for weeks now. But now that his cutting had risen the ranks to become the worst habit, I was going to go mad with worry. I didn't think that he would go do that after a small fight.

It was Sunday afternoon when Sherlock spoke to me. 'Are you okay? With what's happened?'

'No, Sherlock. I am not okay with it. I also do not wish to speak about it.' I sniffed and started tracing the blue veins I could see under his pale skin with the tip of my finger.

Sherlock didn't speak anymore until Mycroft came in later in the evening. 'You'll be going back to Axton tomorrow. Both of you.' Mycroft said pointedly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I can barely contain myself with excitement.'

I smirked. 'What time?'

Mycroft waved his hand dismissively. 'I'll drop you off personally sometime in the morning. You have the day off lessons however.'

I nodded. 'That sounds good.'

'Yes, well, don't make a habit of my _needing _to, hmm?' he smiled seemingly benignly and left the room._**  
**_


	22. Precursor

**A/N: **Just a short chapter to keep you going until the next one... (I'm expecting it to be _quite _long...)

* * *

'We're here.' Mycroft stopped the car outside the administration block. 'Seeing as neither of you came with bags, I'm sure I don't need to drive around there, hmm? Besides, you have to see Mr Webster. Again.'

I climbed out of the car. 'Thanks, Mycroft. For um... Everything I guess.'

'You're welcome. Stay out of trouble now please.' He smiled. 'Sherlock, get _out _of my car.'

Sherlock groaned. 'Fine.' He huffed and opened his own door. '_Thank _you, brother dear.'

'Mhmm. Now, really. Stay _out_ of trouble.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and slammed the door. Moments later, Mycroft's car had turned around and disappeared from sight, out of Axton's gates.

'Well. I suppose we had better see Webster.' I said absently.

'I suppose we might, yes.' Sherlock chuckled.

'What?' I asked, not getting the joke.

'I haven't been to Webster's office since the day I met you...' he mused.

'Oh...'

Sherlock smiled at me and gripped my hand as we started walking. 'Did it ever occur to you that if I didn't have those bad habits, that we probably wouldn't be here right now?'

'How so..?' I asked.

'If I hadn't nearly overdosed, then I wouldn't have gone to rehab. If I hadn't had gone to rehab, I wouldn't have had to see Mr Webster on the day you arrived, meaning that I wouldn't have been your guide. If I hadn't had been your guide, you would have likely gotten someone who hated me, so you would have ended up with those same ideas about me. Therefore, you wouldn't be dating me.' He shrugged.

'Huh...' I pushed open the doors and walked in ahead of Sherlock. 'Hi...'

The secretary pointed down the hall without even looking up. She continued her work without further explanation to us, so we did as directed.

I knocked on the principal's door, and a voice from inside called out, 'Yes, come in.'

Sherlock closed the door gently behind us as we sat in the chairs opposite Mr Webster's desk.

'Now, boys. For starters – welcome back.' He smiled. 'I trust you're both prepared to get back into school? You've missed a fair amount of work.'

'I won't need to catch up. I'm already ahead of the majority if the school.' Sherlock snorted. 'I can help John with his subjects.'

'Good. As long as you don't get distracted by each other?'

'Um... What?' I said stupidly.

'Yes, I know about your relationship. I'm not judging you for it. If you make each other happy – that's all that matters.'

'Oh... Thanks?'

'Why are you thanking me? Just keep it G-rated in public. Not everyone is as accepting as I am and you know the sort of thing that happens here, Sherlock.'

'Unfortunately. I would never allow that to happen to John.' Sherlock replied fiercely.

'No decent person would. A lot of the other students are blinded by what their parents think, and sadly, have none of their own opinions when it comes to that.' Mr Webster paused thoughtfully, and cleaned the lenses of his glasses. 'All I ask of you is that you try as much as possible to keep out of trouble.'

'We um... We were already dating for about six weeks before Christmas...' I added quietly.

Mr Webster raised his eyebrows. 'Maybe so, but had you decided to announce it to the school then? Did everyone know about you two?'

'Well no...'

'Exactly. Now they do. People's opinions will have changed, John.'

'I know.' I bit my lip. 'This is going to get messy isn't it.'

'Most likely.' Sherlock nodded.

'Super.' I groaned.

Mr Webster laughed sadly. 'I'll probably be seeing you a lot over the next while. Remember – stay out of trouble and lie low. You're free to go now. Have a nice day, boys.'_**  
**_


	23. Rich

**A/N: **Well this chapter isn't as long as I thought it would be. So it's early. However, this needs a disclaimer...

**PLEASE ACTUALLY READ THIS. I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE CAUGHT UNAWARE. **Um. Right. This chapter deals with something rather unpleasant. Actually, very unpleasant. I wasn't planning for this to happen - mainly because I _don't _plan my writing - so I'm sorry it turned into this. Now, for the actual disclaimer. This is likely going to ruin it for you all...

**DISCLAIMER: **This chapter unfortunately features a small section of rape. If you don't want to read it - that's fine. You won't be missing much, but it will possibly (as I said - I don't plan my writing) feature as a subplot leading to the actual plot which ends this story. Again, my deepest apologies guys.

Oh, thank you to both Connie and Louise (you lovely people) for being my betas for this chapter!

On with it now.

* * *

As promised, we had the day off lessons. I thought it was just putting off the inevitable, and wanted to go straight back into work – but Sherlock was adamant that we not do that. He demanded that we stay in our dorm room as much as possible and even tried to make me miss dinner. Needless to say, that was _not _an argument he won. Sherlock rolled his eyes and said that if I was going, so was he.

We walked into the dining room, hand in hand – no need to hide anymore. There was an audible intake of breath and the entire room went silent. Every single head in the room turned our way. Some heads turned back, unaffected. Some rolled their eyes. Some smirked in a way that obviously was meant to be taken as _"We'll get you, don't worry,"_, and some – like Molly – watched in horror. I started wondering if it was worth coming down to dinner for.

_No, _I thought. _They can't intimidate me like this._ So – instead of turning, running back up to the dorm in order to hide under the covers and curl up against Sherlock like I wanted to, I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes. I faced the room and stared at them all. Everyone trying to make me feel like I had done something wrong. Whoops. Should've known that my relationship was everyone else's business too, not just my own.

'Problem?' I asked loudly.

Everyone else turned back to their food and the regular chatter started up again. Eyes were kept down as Sherlock and I walked towards Molly at our usual table. She shook her head in disbelief. 'They're going to get your back for that.' She warned.

'I wasn't aware that I needed everyone else's permission to love someone, sorry.' I said irritated.

'Mm. Well I got you some food. Thought I could save you time if you came down, or I could bring it up if you didn't.' She smiled gently and passed me a tray stacked with an assortment of food.

I passed Sherlock the apple and watched him until he took a small, tentative bite. I, on the other hand, was ravenous, so I ate everything on the tray. I didn't even know what it was. I just ate everything. When we were finished, I stacked the trays on the table's end and led Sherlock back up to our room.

The way to our room, however, was blocked by someone. He turned around and smiled at us. 'Hello, boys.'

'Rich?' I asked. 'Why are you here?'

'Oh, Sherly knows. You know, John, a few things.' He started walking towards us and stopped about a metre from us. 'Firstly, you should stop calling me "Rich". It's not my name. Secondly, I never thought _you_ would date _him_. Sherly is a bit of a drag, don't you think?' he tilted his head.

'You... Your name isn't Rich?' I turned to Sherlock. 'He is Moriarty? I didn't think...'

'What, that I existed?' he shook his head. 'Oh no, no, no. I do. I really do. We had fun together in rehab, didn't we Sherly?'

Sherlock gnashed his head together. 'What do you want.'

'You _know _what I want.' Moriarty said, raising his eyebrow.

'You're never going to get it though, are you?' Sherlock said. 'Not over my dead body.'

'Oh, Sherly. You know I could have that arranged!' Moriarty said gleefully.

'What does he want?' I whispered to Sherlock.

He didn't speak for a few moments, obviously deciding whether to tell me or not. 'He wants you.'

'Me?' I turned to Moriarty. 'Why do you want me?'

'Let's just say... I like new things. I get bored easily.'

From the corner of my eye, I saw Sherlock go as white as a sheet. 'No.'

'Oh _yes_. And I will have you, John.' His eyes strayed up and down me slowly. 'I will have you.' He turned away, up the corridor to his room. 'Goodnight, boys.' He called back to us, slamming his door.

* * *

Sherlock pushed me inside our room and locked it. 'Shit.' He muttered.

'What's wrong?'

'Moriarty. Wants you. Oh _shit_.' He ran his hands anxiously through his hair. 'John, I told you not to get close to him. You did, didn't you?'

'He's in my class! He sits beside me... I didn't want to be rude.' I said helplessly.

'Well it's too late now.' He said pacing the floor. 'Do you know what he means by "want"?'

'I thought he just meant date, but you obviously got a different meaning...'

He nodded. 'Moriarty said "I like new things". That in combination with "want"...'

I felt the blood drain from my face. 'Wait... Do you mean...'

'He knows about our relationship. What we _haven't _done. He wants to take that from you, and believe me – he will. Whether you like it or not.'

'Sherlock, what are you saying?'

'Be careful. This time, I really mean it. He will find you and oh God, John, he really will do it. I don't... I can't let that happen.' He shook his head. 'Just be careful, yes?'

'Yeah, of course.' I put my hand on his arm to stop his pacing. 'Don't worry.' I folded Sherlock into my arms and felt him respond.

He melted a little and touched his lips to my shoulder. 'I'll try, John, but I can't promise anything.'

* * *

Over the next few weeks, nothing really happened. Sherlock began to worry less about me, and Moriarty went back to being "Rich". I tried to avoid talking to him, but that was easier said than done when the teacher paired me with him as homework buddies. Which was strange – maths shouldn't have required a homework partner.

I went to his dorm room one Thursday night to study, and decided against telling Sherlock. I left my books in our room and walked swiftly down the hall to number 9. I hammered on the door and was pulled inside by someone. The room was dimly lit, and I didn't see any books. Something in my brain was screaming at me:_ Well done, John! You walked directly into his trap. Very well done! _

I heard a lock snap shut on the door and a giggle. 'Hello, Johnny boy!'

'What do you want.'

'Hmm... You know I want _you_.' The small figure of Moriarty walked into my line of sight.

'Which isn't going to happen. You might as well just let me go.'

Moriarty ignored me and bumped his fist lightly against the wall. 'Interesting thing about Axton. Once they cottoned on to the activities happening in these dorm rooms, they realised they wouldn't be able to stop them. Instead, they thought they should at least make life easier for the neighbouring rooms. Every single dorm room was outfitted with noise proof insulation.'

'Why are you telling me this?' I asked, watching him pace the room.

'I'm telling you so that you'll know.'

'Yes, but _why_?'

'Well...' he grinned. 'That way, you'll know that no one will hear you scream.'

* * *

For the first time, fear coursed through my veins. 'What..?'

He shrugged. 'I always get what I want.'

'What about what _I _want?'

Moriarty laughed. 'My dear, what makes you think I care what you want?'

My jaw dropped. I could see no way this was going to end well. I swallowed audibly and regained a small amount of composure. 'How do I get out?'

He raised an eyebrow, still grinning. 'You get out when I'm _done_ with you.' Moriarty took a few steps towards me. 'So. Do we do this the easy way, or the hard way?'

'Nothing will make you change your mind will it?' I asked, trying to buy some time.

'Nope. Not a single thing.'

'Fuck.' I muttered.

'And fuck is what I will do.' Moriarty sang. 'Now, do me a favour. Let's make this quick. I have somewhere to be.'

'No thanks.'

He sighed impatiently. 'This is going to happen whether you like it or not. Now, hurry up and undress.'

'No.' I said defiantly.

'John.' The grin vanished and was replaced by a menacing glare. 'If you don't, _I _will.' He stepped towards me again.

'No. Get away from me.' I clawed helplessly at the door behind me as Moriarty took a few more steps.

'Hmm...' He stopped walking. There were mere centimetres between us. 'Hard way, eh?' Moriarty grinned, putting his hands lightly on my chest. He dragged them slowly down to my waist and rested his hands there. I shoved them away, and received a stinging slap for my efforts. 'Do not test me, John.'

I shut my eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths as Moriarty pulled me around. I heard him laugh quietly. 'You sadistic bastard.' I muttered.

'Mm.' He sighed. 'Now, shall I help you along?' he replaced his hands on my waist and rubbed his thumbs in circles on my bare skin. He stopped, and I thought he had changed his mind, until my pants were unceremoniously jerked down my thighs. Moriarty started humming something – a quick, chirpy tune. He touched his fingertips under the band of my underwear and pulled them down too. 'Bend.' Moriarty pulled my hips towards himself. 'Brace yourself against the door. I don't want to tell you again.'

I put my hands against the door as the reality of my situation became apparent. 'Oh Jesus... Oh shit...'

Moriarty giggled as I heard the rustle of material behind me. 'Now, John, remember. No one can hear you scream.' I could practically _hear _him grinning. The humming started up again and I felt something press against me. '_No one can hear you scream...' _he sang quietly. '_No one will hear you scream...' _

I cried out as something – smaller than I had been expecting – entered me.

'Shut up. That's just my finger.' He put in a second finger and giggled. 'My, you're tight, aren't you?'

I bit my lip so hard it bled. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of my screaming again.

'Here we go!' Moriarty sang gleefully as he extracted his fingers slowly.

I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. I didn't want to believe this was happening. 'Oh God... Sherlock help me...'

I felt something else press against my entrance just as there was a knock on the door.

'Bit busy right now. Come back later.' Moriarty yelled at the door.

'LET ME IN.' A voice roared back. An undeniably familiar voice.

'SHERLOCK, HELP.' I cried hoarsely.

'JOHN, MOVE AWAY FROM THE DOOR!'

I tried to hobble to the side, but Moriarty snarled and shoved himself roughly inside me.

'FUUUUUCK!' I yelled. Spasms of fire shot up my spine. There was nothing I could do now. I pulled myself to the side of the door just in time as the door was kicked down.

'GET THE FUCK OFF MY BOYFRIEND!' Sherlock grabbed Moriarty's shoulders and hauled him off me. I collapsed and heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh repetitively until a dull thump echoed around the room. 'John,' Sherlock's hands were on my shoulders and I saw him crouch beside me. 'It's okay. Can you stand?'

I nodded weakly against the floor. 'I think so.' I blushed faintly. 'Um... My pants...'

He nodded and tugged them up gently. 'Do you want some help up?'

'Mm. Please.' I grabbed the arm he offered me and winced as I stood up. 'I think I would like a shower.'

Sherlock smiled faintly. 'Come on then.'


	24. Comfort

Sherlock half-carried, half-led me down the hall to our room as people peered out their doorways to see what the noise was about. Someone shouted out as they went into Moriarty's room to find him lying practically unconscious on the floor.

Sherlock nudged our room open and kicked it shut, letting go of me briefly in order to lock it. He slipped off his shoes on the way to the bathroom and sat me down gently on the closed toilet.

'Are you okay to sit for a minute or two?' he asked gently.

I frowned, then it hit me. 'Oh.' I replied weakly. 'It... It's not too bad I suppose.'

He nodded. 'Do you want some help?'

I didn't reply. My eyes were drifting around and my head was blank. I suppose you could call it _numb_. I was half-aware as Sherlock tugged off my jumper and shirt and tossed them into a pile. He turned the shower on and left it running as he stood me up and pulled my pants down to my ankles.

'John,' he said quietly. 'Feet.'

My feet lifted themselves automatically so he could drag my clothes out from under me. He tested the heat of the shower and pushed me gently under the water. Sherlock hesitated a moment before removing his shirt as well and throwing it into the bedroom. Probably didn't want it to get ruined by the water. Regardless, he stepped into the shower – wearing his jeans – and took me into his arms.

'It's okay.' Sherlock whispered. 'It's okay.'

I felt my eyes fill and brim over with tears as I came back into myself. Everything with Moriarty had happened. He had been inside me. A sob broke free from my lips, and Sherlock pulled me closer against his chest.

'It's okay, John.' His fingertips started tracing patterns down my spine. 'It's okay.'

The water streamed over my head and down my back. 'How did you find me?' I asked between sobs and gasps.

'I asked Molly if she had seen you, and she told me you had gone into Moriarty's room. I figured it wouldn't be for any innocent purpose. Besides, what he had already said...' Sherlock shivered. 'I'm sorry, John.' He murmured.

'For what?'

'Not being there sooner. I could have prevented this from happening.' He sounded angry.

'I should have told you where I went. Don't blame yourself.' I replied, still not breathing normally.

'It's not your fault either.'

We stood under the shower like that for what could have been hours. Eventually though, without even really _thinking _about it, I peeled off my – now completely soaking – underwear and chucked them onto my pants. They were a reminder of Moriarty now, and were spattered with remnants of him. It didn't even occur to me that I was now standing stark naked, in a shower, with my boyfriend.

Sherlock started humming something low and slow under his breath. 'Are you feeling slightly better now?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Slightly. I might clean myself up a bit.'

'Okay.' Sherlock smiled sadly and kissed me lightly on my forehead. 'Take as long as you need. Call if you need me.' He unwrapped himself and stepped out of the shower, closing the door.

Through the fogged up glass, I could still see as he struggled to get his jeans off. He wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered into the bedroom.

I turned my attention to the matter at hand, quickly washing and drying myself. I didn't even look at the pile of clothes as I left.

Sherlock looked up as I entered the bedroom. 'Hey, how are you?'

I shrugged. 'Dunno. Weird. I just got violated by a psychopath.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'You feel weird. Okay then. I called Mycroft. He talked to the principal. Apparently Moriarty isn't on campus anymore. He's just disappeared.'

I sighed and flopped onto the bed beside Sherlock. 'That's a relief I guess.'

'Mm.' He turned onto his side to face me. 'It is. You know, John, it's Easter in a few weeks.'

'It is, yeah.' I nodded.

'Want to go up to London?' he asked.

'Sure.' Yes. Please. Take me away from Axton. I was beginning to feel suffocated here.

Sherlock chuckled. 'I think we've spent more time in London this year than we have at Axton.' He mused.

'And I'm perfectly fine with it. I actually miss your bed now.'

'Me too. This bed feels small compared to my own.'

'Try sleeping in it _alone_.' I groaned.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I don't know if you realised this, but I _have _slept in it alone. For several years in fact.'

'Oh. Whoops. You did, didn't you...' I blushed, feeling like an idiot.

'I did, yes.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Really though, are you okay?'

I bit my lip. 'No. Not really.'

Sherlock's arms wound around my back and pulled me to his chest. 'Sleep, John. I'll be here when you wake up.' He placed a light kiss on my lips before I nuzzled into his neck.

'I love you so much, Sherlock.' I sighed, closing my eyes.

'And I love you also, John.'


	25. The Proposition

**A/N: **I know, I know, I said minimal smut. Well. That has sort of been disregarded for this chapter. It's not particularly _detailed_ and is probably absolutely horrendous, so I apologise for that and um. Yeah.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, the days with my peers passed slowly and the nights with Sherlock passed all too fast. The episode with Moriarty was still on my mind a little. Jim had in fact disappeared – no trace of him was around the school and it was like he had never been at Axton in the first place. Sherlock asked Mycroft to do some digging, but he drew a blank with his research. Sherlock was left feeling – from what I could understand – annoyed at the lack of information he had. Even the records from the rehabilitation centre both Sherlock and Moriarty attended had provided little information as to his background, or what might have happened to him. Sherlock had told me it was a "closed case", though I got the feeling it was anything but.

It was finally Easter, and we were going back to London, as per the tradition we had subconsciously created – any excuse to leave Axton, we would take it. Sherlock had become quiet and barely talked on the way to his house. We dropped our bags in Sherlock's room, and almost immediately after, he jumped up and ran down the hallway yelling at me to stay and that he would be back soon. I rolled my eyes and collapsed backwards onto the bed. I stared at the ceiling and started humming. It was the tune Sherlock had composed a couple of weeks ago, and recited every night since – a slow, haunting melody. I stopped when I heard footfall coming towards the bedroom.

Sherlock burst through the door. He kicked off his shoes and abandoned his coat over the chair. 'John.'

'Yeah?' I asked, sitting up. 'You okay?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I have a proposition for you.'

I narrowed my eyes. 'You aren't going to do an experiment on me, are you?'

He chuckled. 'Depends how you classify it, I guess.' Sherlock sat beside me and stared intently into my eyes. 'John, I really do love you. You know that, right?'

'Yeah, I know... I love you too.' I replied, slightly confused.

'No matter what happens, you have to remember that.'

'I will. Sherlock-' I was cut off by Sherlock's mouth becoming latched onto my own. I broke away, and his mouth travelled down my neck, kissing and biting where he must have deemed it appropriate. 'What's this proposition of yours?' I squeaked.

Sherlock sighed against my skin and he got off the bed and rummaged around his coat pockets. He threw two small packages at me. '_That_ is my proposition.'

I stared at the two items beside me. 'That's your proposition.'

'I thought we had gone over this. Yes. It is.'

I turned my stare upon Sherlock. 'Why would you... I... we? Be needing those?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Sometimes, John, you are spectacularly oblivious. What do people _usually _use condoms and lubricant for?'

My eyes widened. 'What?' I squeaked. 'You said we weren't going to!'

'That was then, this is now.' Sherlock said, waving his hand dismissively. 'Besides, circumstances have... changed.'

'What do you mean?'

'John, it's irrelevant. If you don't want to, whatever. We won't.' He took the objects off the bed and tossed them into a drawer. 'Besides, you ruined the moment, didn't you?' Sherlock turned and left me in his room, sitting on the bed in a mixture of and embarrassment.

* * *

I found Sherlock where I had expected to – the library. He was sitting on the winged armchair in his usual position, with his head dangling off one arm and his legs off the other.

'What do you want?' He asked, not looking up from his book.

'I... When does Mycroft get home?'

'Sometime in the next hour. Why?' his eyes were still focussed on the book.

'Well I was thinking... Maybe, if you still wanted to...'

Sherlock turned his gaze upon me. 'Are you serious?'

I nodded. 'I was just a bit startled before.'

Sherlock grinned and turned away from me. 'No.'

'No? I thought...'

'Oh, John...' he sighed. 'Remember what I said last time? It involves two parties. I don't feel like it now. Maybe later.'

'Later? Why not now?'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Because. It'll be better later. Much, _much_ better.'

'Why?' I asked. Sherlock was confusing me.

'Because I say so, okay?'

'Fine.' I rolled my eyes and left him to do whatever it was he was doing.

* * *

Mycroft arrived home not soon after, and informed me that he would be hosting a dinner party later on in the formal dining room. The meaning of "It'll be better later" clicked in. Mycroft was going to be entertaining guests in the room beneath Sherlock's. At this realisation, I grinned and it must have been more noticeable than I was expecting because Mycroft frowned at me and asked what was so funny.

I shook my head and darted off into the library. Sherlock had barely moved. 'You know your brother is having a dinner party right?'

'Of course.'

'And you know your room is directly above where he and his guests will be?'

'Oh yes.'

I shook my head in disbelief. 'Are we doing this specifically to annoy your brother?'

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. 'Why would you think that?' he grinned. 'That's just a happy coincidence.'

'That's good to know.' I rolled my eyes. 'Wait. If Mycroft is having a dinner party, what are we eating?'

'Is food all you think about?' Sherlock frowned at me. 'We're having dinner with them.'

My mouth gaped open. 'Are you serious?'

'Yes, I'm serious. Close your mouth, John. It's unbecoming of you.'

'What? Never mind. Are we supposed to wear suits or something?' My heart dropped at that. The last time I wore a suit, it ended up getting soaked in Sherlock's blood...

'I'm not. Just my usual.' Sherlock shrugged.

'_Your_ usualis practically a suit compared to _my_ usual.'

'Doesn't matter.'

I sighed. 'What time is dinner then?'

* * *

Mycroft's friends (or were they only classified as _colleagues _to him?) started arriving around 7pm. By 7.30pm, they were all in attendance and Mycroft declared first course served.

Sherlock and I sat together, with a grumpy looking woman beside me and an uninterested man beside Sherlock. They didn't speak to us, but I heard the woman titter as Sherlock filled a glass with wine for himself.

'You know, Mycroft,' she began in a whiny voice. 'This young man over here drinking wine is a bad example for the lovely chap beside me.' She winked at me and I felt Sherlock's grip on my thigh tighten possessively.

'The young man drinking wine is my _brother_, Nancy, and the young man you just winked at is his boyfriend.' Mycroft replied smoothly.

She was completely oblivious. 'Oh it's so nice your brother has a friend. Does he have a _girl_friend?' She asked, now looking towards Sherlock, but winking at me again.

'John?' Sherlock said sweetly. His fingers loosened their grip and started dancing across the top of my thigh and down over my knee, then back up.

I got Sherlock's meaning and leaned in as he placed a kiss – slightly inappropriate for a dinner table – on my mouth.

Nancy's face went pale and she turned to her food. 'Ah.'

The man sitting beside Sherlock started sniggering. 'That solves that issue, doesn't it, Nancy?'

'What issue? I don't know what you're talking about.'

'You won't be finding yourself a new fling from this like you were hoping.'

The rest of the table started snickering quietly as I cringed away from the leering woman.

Sherlock stood abruptly. 'If you'll all excuse us. John and I have some business to tend to.'

I stood up and couldn't help a grin from creeping across my face. 'Yeah, excuse us.'

Mycroft looked at us suspiciously. 'Tell me you're joking.'

'Perfectly serious.' Sherlock replied, also starting to grin.

'It's only the first course!' he protested.

'Precisely. Have some food put aside for us, won't you?' Sherlock pushed his chair back and made a move to leave, but turned back and grabbed the bottle of wine from the centre of the table. 'This is good wine.' He drained the rest of his glass and left the room. 'Come along, John!' he called to me, already by the stairs.

Mycroft grabbed my arm as I passed him. 'Please try to be inconspicuous.' He whispered.

'It's Sherlock.' I shrugged. 'When has anything he does _ever _been inconspicuous?'

* * *

Sherlock made sure his bottle of wine was placed securely on his desk after pulling me into his room and locking the door. He grinned as he pushed me against the wall and pinned my hands above my head. He attacked my lips with his own and didn't pause for several moments. When he spoke, his breathing was ragged and his voice was lower than usual.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Positive.'

'Even though the whole Moriarty thing...'

I sighed. 'Even though that happened, yeah. It doesn't do to dwell on the past.'

He smiled. 'That it doesn't. A safety word at least?'

'Will it make you feel better?'

'I just don't want to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Say the word and I'll stop.'

'Okay.' I nodded, thinking. 'Raxacoricofallapatorius?'

Sherlock stared at me blankly. 'I beg your pardon?'

I laughed. 'Maybe not. How about cactus instead?'

'Cactus. That's better.' He grinned, planting his lips on my neck again.

He let my hands go, and I felt his travel down to my jumper. He tugged at the bottom and pulled it over my head. I surprised Sherlock by spinning him around and shoving him against the wall. I clumsily undid the buttons on Sherlock's shirt and became a bit dazed as he pulled my t-shirt off at the same time as I finished his buttons, then spun us around several times until I ended up standing with my back against the footboard of the bed.

Sherlock chuckled at my expression. 'You okay there?'

'Fine, just regaining a bit of oxygen.' I gasped.

'Cactus?'

'No!' I said indignantly.

'Good.' He grinned. Sherlock ran his fingers through my hair and down my bare back, barely touching me.

I shuddered and felt two things simultaneously.

First I felt light headed. Sherlock was everything and everywhere and all I could see, smell, hear, taste, feel. Everything was Sherlock. Sherlock was _my _everything. Mine. All mine. All I could see was his piercingly blue eyes staring into my own. All I could smell was smoke and apples now beginning to twine into the faint smell of sweat. All I could hear was Sherlock sighing and whispering my name. All I could taste was Sherlock's mouth – wine. Wine and smoke. It made a fantastic combination. All I could feel were Sherlock's fingertips travelling over me, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Up and down my back, through my hair, over my face, over my chest, toying with the band of my jeans... Everything was Sherlock and the effect was overpowering yet strangely gratifying,

Secondly, I felt blood drain towards where Sherlock was currently amusing himself.

He chuckled. 'That took longer than I expected.' His lips travelled down my neck and over my collarbone, before coming back to my mouth.

'Oh God...' I sighed. 'We're about to have sex literally right above your brother and his friends...'

Sherlock stopped and looked into my eyes again. 'Cactus?'

'_Hell _no.' I laughed. 'I think it's hilarious.' I pulled his head back to me as Sherlock's hands moved nimbly down my waist and to the button on my – now straining – jeans. He pushed them down and I kicked them off while he removed his own.

'John,' Sherlock mumbled into the skin behind my ear. 'You have a very important decision to make.'

'Mm?'

'Here or on the bed?' he asked quietly.

'I don't care.' I moaned.

'Get on the bed.' Sherlock instructed. 'Easier to clean.'

I nodded and went around one side of the bed, while he went around the other to get a condom and lube from the drawer.

Sherlock flicked his finger under the waistband of my underwear. 'Off.' I hesitated what Sherlock must have deemed a moment too long. 'Cactus?'

I shook my head and yanked them off. Not like he hadn't seen me naked already. 'Stop asking me that.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Just checking. Turn around. Hands and knees.'

I did as he asked and felt the bed sink slightly under his weight. I shut my eyes as I heard something squirt out of a bottle.

Sherlock chuckled as I squirmed reflexively. 'Ready?'

I nodded. 'Let's do this.'

Something prodded at my entrance. I gasped as it slid inside me. '_Jeeeeeesus_.'

'John?' it stopped moving.

'Just a bit cold. Carry on.' I replied through gritted teeth.

A second finger joined the first and I felt them move out before going back in and scissoring gently. 'I'm going in.' Sherlock said quietly. It sounded like a line from a war movie. _I'm going in. I'm about to do something really unpleasant that has the potential to kill me._ But this wasn't war. At least... I didn't _think _it was.

Sherlock fully removed his digits before slowly entering me.

I gasped again as fire burned up my spine. Stars burst and danced across my vision.

'Okay, John?'

'Yeah, fine.' I spluttered. 'I'm fine.'

I felt Sherlock's hands grasp my waist firmly, and his thumbs start rubbing small circles into my skin as he started thrusting gently. Then harder and faster and faster and harder. Sherlock started sighing, gasping, moaning. '_John...'_

'Oh God, _Sherlock..._'

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge and could tell Sherlock was as well. The sounds of the springs in Sherlock's bed creaking audibly – for the first time ever – and his headboard smashing into the wall was all in the background. White noise. Static.

Sherlock came with a loud moan – closer to a shout – of my name, which I suspected wasn't just for my benefit, and I followed him not soon after.

I collapsed directly into the mess I had just made, and Sherlock landed on top of me, pulling out as he rolled onto his back. 'Holy shit.' I heard him mumble as I drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

I woke up at what must have been just after 11pm. Sherlock had only been up a few minutes, but had wrapped himself in his blue dressing gown that usually hung on the back of his door.

He smiled as I cracked open an eye. 'You might want a shower. I'll clean the sheets up.'

Maybe he had been up longer than I'd thought. I stood up and walked casually into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping in. 'Sherlock?'

'Mm?' he poked his head around the door. 'Wait. Let me guess. You're hungry.'

I grinned. 'A bit.'

'We can go down to the kitchen and find what Mycroft had put aside for us when you're out of the shower.'

'Brilliant.' I busied myself in the shower while Sherlock bustled around changing sheets.

When I came out, he was sitting happily in the centre of the bed, in his pyjamas, admiring his handiwork. 'You know, I'm quite good at making beds...' he mused.

I pulled my own pyjamas on. 'Food?'

'You don't want to look at my bed?' he sounded hurt. 'See how nicely the sheets are tucked in?'

'Sherlock...' I said suspiciously. 'You aren't on drugs are you?'

'No, I'm genuinely saying that.'

I rolled my eyes and looked to the corner he was pointing at. 'You did a wonderful job with the bed. Can we eat now?'

He got up. 'I suppose. Lead the way.'

I pretty much ran down to the kitchen – the "hobbling stage" was thankfully passed – and could barely contain my excitement when I opened the fridge to see stacks of containers filled with leftovers inside it. I selected one at random and shoved it into the microwave happily.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and bit into an apple, saying nothing.

The timer went off, so I yanked it out and put it on the table. I pulled the lid off and dug my fork in enthusiastically. It burnt the top of my mouth, but I practically drooled anyway. 'I have no idea what this is, but it's amazing.' I ate my way through the remainder of it while Sherlock looked on in a mix of fascination and disbelief.

I threw the empty container and my fork in the sink and sat back in my chair, satisfied.

'Good?' Sherlock asked.

'Ugh... It was... It was... That was possibly the best thing I have ever eaten.' I sighed happily.

'Right. I'm going back to bed now. Will you be joining me? Or will you eat another container or two of leftovers?'

I shook my head. 'Bed.'

* * *

When we were back in Sherlock's freshly made bed, I noticed Sherlock was being quiet. Too quiet. I was used to him not saying much, but this was just abnormal.

'Are you okay?' I asked, tilting my head to look up at him.

He didn't speak for a few moments. 'John, do you love me?'

'Yeah, you know I do. Why?'

'Would you do anything I asked you to?'

'I guess it depends-'

'That's not what I asked. Would you do anything I asked you to?' He repeated.

'I suppose.'

'Do you trust me?'

'With my life.' I replied solemnly. 'Sherlock, what's going on?'

He shook his head. 'Nothing. Don't worry.' He kissed my hair lightly. 'I love you, John. More than anyone. More than anything.'

'I love you too, Sherlock.'

Sherlock rolled over, away from me. 'Good night.'

'Yeah, night.'

* * *

I woke up the next morning to an empty bed. Sherlock wasn't in bed. It felt strange not having someone beside me now. I stood up and stretched. My joints popped and I smiled. It was going to be a good day today. The sun was out. Maybe Sherlock and I could go for a picnic for lunch or something. I used the bathroom and wandered downstairs, yawning.

I expected to see Sherlock sitting at the table in the kitchen eating an apple. Nope, not there. I went back upstairs – maybe we had missed each other walking through the hallway. Nope, not there either. The bottle of wine from last night was still on his desk, but his coat was gone from the chair. Odd. Maybe he had hung it up. As a last resort, I checked the library. He wasn't there, but there was something on the table beside his chair.

_John_

I tore the envelope open and quickly read the letter inside. My heart stopped. No. I read the letter again and then reread it. _No. _I flipped it over. No hidden meaning. Oh God. _'SHERLOCK!'_

* * *

**A/N: **'Ello again. So that was my first smutness... Sorry (again) if it utterly sucked. Um. Right. That is all c:


	26. Pain

**A/N: **My apologies for this taking so long. I had exams and (accidentally) forgot about this for a few days. Nevertheless, here we are. Because it's just one of _"those" _chapters (there seem to be a lot of those, don't there?) some recommended listening for you... "Iris" by the GooGoo Dolls, "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol and "Blinding" by Florence and the Machine and "With or Without You" by U2. That last one should um... give you an idea of what's to come - sorry. I love you all really c:

* * *

When I got up at 4am, John had looked so peaceful. I knew what I was doing. I had given him everything and now I was ripping it mercilessly from his hands. I knew how he would feel. Confused, hurt, betrayed – but it didn't matter. There was nothing I could do for him anymore apart from this one last thing. I almost went back to lie beside him again, to hear – to _feel_ – that heartbeat that had become the rhythm for everything in my life. I would have been able to recognise it in a thousand others. No, it was more familiar than that. I would be able to pick his out amongst the rest of the world. I would lie back beside him and feel the warmth that radiated off him, like he was a sun. John _was_ the sun – _my _sun. Warm and life giving. I needed my John like nothing else in the world. And _that _was exactly why I had to leave him now.

I stood and quietly pulled on some jeans, a shirt, my converse and my coat. My bag was already packed with two spare changes of clothes, some essentials, more money than Mycroft would be pleased with, my passport and my plane ticket. From my coat pocket, I pulled out the letter for John I had been carrying around with me, and put it on the table in the library. John would find it, and when he did – it would be too late.

* * *

It was 10am. 6 hours since I had left John. My entire body was aching from the loss of John. Not being able to hold him, to see him, to smell him... I was getting close to breaking point already. John had become my new addiction, and I desperately needed a fix. Everything had been John, and now I didn't have him. I felt empty.

I was on the plane, flying off to Zurich. John would have just woken up by now. In a few minutes, he would find my letter. I could remember every single word, like it had imprinted itself into my memory as a constant reminder of what I had done. I recited it to myself now, hoping this time it would leave me be.

_John_

_Please forgive me for everything. I should never have gotten involved with you._

_I do not regret it, but it makes everything so much more complicated._

_Please remember that I loved you. That I do love you. And honestly, I doubt I could stop now._

_I know that it will be hard for you and I am sorry. But you are strong, John. You will survive. You must survive. And you will do it for us both._

_Do not forget me, but as you once said – "It does not do well to dwell on the past."_

_Now, I am past, do not dwell on me. Remember, but do not dwell._

_I hope, really hope, that one day you will forgive me._

_In the meantime, remember I loved you. That I still do. That I always will._

_I do not think I could live without you, and he is sure to take you from me._

_I am leaving for you, John. It is not safe for you to be with me, so I have gone to meet Moriarty._

_You know how dangerous he can be – I told you. For that reason, do not count on ever seeing me again._

_With all the love I ever have and ever will possess, I set you free._

_Go now, John._

_Know I love you._

_SH_

* * *

As agreed with Mycroft, I called immediately when I touched ground.

'I trust you got to Zurich?' he asked politely.

'I did. Where is this man you sent for me?' I asked, scanning the small crowd.

'He should be there somewhere. He'll take you where you need to go and sort everything out.' Mycroft assured me.

'Good. Thank you, Mycroft.'

'We all do what we must.'

I yawned. 'I have one last favour to ask of you.'

'Another one?' he sighed. 'What is it?'

I explained it to him quickly.

'Are you sure?' Mycroft asked when I had finished.

No. Definitely not. 'Yes.'

'Well, I suppose that is the least I could do.'

'Thank you.' I saw someone wave a sign with _Holmes _printed on it. 'I think I see the guy you sent.'

'Good. I hope you don't find him infuriating.'

'So do I. Goodbye, Mycroft.'

The line disconnected as I walked towards the sign.

The man holding it smiled as I stopped in front of him. 'Sherlock?'

'Yes?'

'Greg Lestrade. I'm a... friend of your brother's.'

'Nice to meet you.' I replied, shaking his hand. 'Mycroft said you would have everything sorted out?'

'I do. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry.'

'Why?'

'Mycroft told me why you're here. I'm sorry for your predicament.'

'Me too.' I said quietly as my phone started ringing. 'Mycroft?'

'Sherlock, listen. I've just got off the phone with John.'

'How is he?'

'To say the least, he isn't happy. I told him where you are. He's coming after you on the next flight.'

Crap. 'Great. Well done. Thanks a lot.'

'Do not get snarky with me, Sherlock. It will work in your favour eventually.'

'I... When does he arrive?'

'I'm sending him on a private jet. A few hours.'

'I need to work some things out. No doubt we'll talk later.'

'No doubt. Good luck, Sherlock.'

* * *

Lestrade ("I insist, Greg is fine.") forced me to try and sleep in the hotel room he had booked. Surprisingly, I did get a couple hours of sleep, but it felt wrong – waking up in an alien bed was one thing, but waking up in an empty one was not something I was used to anymore. I heard my phone go off somewhere on the bed and searched blindly for it.

_Calling: Unknown Number_

'What?'

'Hello, love.'

'Moriarty. What do you want?'

'Hmm... Well. I want to see you. Guess what, Sherly?'

'What?'

'_I have your boyfriend..._' he sang gleefully.

'If you touch-'

'How delightful! Threats!' he giggled. 'Your pet is adorable. Do you want him back?'

'Where are you?'

He gave me the address. 'Will I be seeing you soon, my dear?'

I hung up and yelled, _'Lestrade!'_

* * *

Not long after, I was standing outside a blank building. 'Are you sure you don't want me to wait for you?' Lestrade asked uncertainly.

I nodded. 'I'm sure. Thank you for this.'

'You're welcome.' He wound up his window and drove off slowly.

I took a deep breath and went through the metal doors into the warehouse.

Inside, there were crates stacked around the walls. It was dark, but towards the back, a single row of lights had been switched on. I walked cautiously down the centre aisle to the end and stopped. Moriarty was sitting happily on a white foldout chair, John was sitting gagged and tied to another one and sitting on a crate was a blonde haired guy a couple of years older than us.

'Oh, Sherly!' Jim clapped his hands together. 'How nice to see you!'

'I don't doubt. Now, I'm here. What do you want from me?'

'He's very to the point, isn't he, Sebastian?' Jim asked the blonde guy.

Sebastian didn't reply, but smirked and turned his attention to something beside him.

'How far would you go to protect John?' Jim asked, tilting his head.

'If it came down to it, I would die to protect him.'

'Oh that's good.' He nodded towards me and Sebastian lifted his hand. Suddenly, I found a gun pointed at my head. 'Sebastian, you know Sherlock, is a superb marksman. He misses less than one in 50 shots.'

'That's nice. I'd hate to have to be shot twice.' I replied dryly.

Jim smirked. 'You're funny, Sherly.'

'So I am told.'

'Sebastian, untie John.' He waved his hand towards John. 'Sit.' Jim gestured to a chair across from him. He pulled a small plastic table between us. 'Come join us, John.' He said as John rubbed his wrists.

'Sherlock...' John rushed forwards and threw his arms around me.

My arms twitched at the familiar contact. I wanted so much to grasp him to me that it caused me physical pain to restrain myself. 'John, let go.' I murmured. 'This is difficult enough.'

'What is?' he whispered back.

_Everything. _I had to let John go in order to protect him. If he wouldn't let me go, then we could both be killed. 'Just do it. Sit down.'

John's arms slowly removed themselves from around me. He sat on the chair offered by Moriarty.

'Sebastian, retie John, then Sherlock like I told you.' Moriarty instructed, smirking.

The blonde boy went and tied John's arms behind his back, and his ankles to the chair, before approaching me with some thin nylon cord. My sleeves were pushed up, and my arms were tied to the armrests of the chair so that my palms faced up. My ankles were attached similarly to John's. I knew it would be useless to fight this Sebastian boy. He had a gun, I suspected Jim did as well, and if I tried to escape, they would shoot me without a moment's hesitation. John obviously had figured as much, because he didn't struggle either.

'Sebastian, two cuts to both of Sherlock's arms.'

'How big?' Sebastian asked lightly.

'As big as you care to. Not too deep though.' Moriarty answered after a moment's thought.

I took a deep breath and braced myself as the tip of a small – but sharp – penknife was pressed against my skin. The ensuing cut was a few centimetres long, and I estimated a few millimetres deep.

With the four cuts now dripping blood onto the concrete floor, John watched me. His mouth was gaping from horror, and I could see that he knew as well as I did what Moriarty's plan was. And he knew he was only there to watch.

* * *

Half an hour later, and I now had a few more cuts. Some overlapped, some were cuts on their own, and some opened up old scars. I was feeling faint, and John had begun screaming at everyone and everything. His voice was thick, and his eyes were close to brimming over.

'Let him go! He hasn't done anything! LET HIM GO, PLEASE!' He cried desperately. John shrieked at the roof, an animalistic sound.

I closed my eyes in an effort to make my position seem worse than it was – which didn't take much. I could feel myself fading fast.

'No, Sherlock! Open your eyes! LOOK AT ME.' John yelled at me. 'Sherlock, please!'

'Untie Sherlock. He only has a few minutes left.' Moriarty sounded disinterested. 'Might as well untie John too.'

'Hurry up, he's dying!' John sobbed.

'If I untie you, do not resuscitate him.' Moriarty warned. 'I _will _get Sebastian to shoot you. Think of your untying as a gift.'

'Yes, yes, fine!' John yelled hurriedly.

I collapsed to the floor as my bonds were removed. John's hands cradled my head, stroked my hair – my shoulders.

'Oh Sherlock.' A tear fell on my face. 'Don't die. Come back to me.'

I opened my eyes. 'Let go.' I whispered.

'No, I won't. Ever. I can't live without you, Sherlock.'

'You have to.'

'I won't. I love you too much.'

'I love you too... John...'

'Sherlock?'

'I'm sorry.' I whispered.

'It's not your fault. Stay with me, Sherlock.'

'I can't, John.'

'Yes, you can. You _will_.' He replied adamantly.

'No, John. I love you... _Let_ _go_...'

'Sherlock...'

I didn't respond.

'Sherlock?' John started sobbing. 'Oh God. Sherlock! No, no, no. Come back! Sherlock!' More tears landed on my face. I barely noticed. 'SHERLOCK!'

* * *

**A/N: **So yes. Another cliffhanger(ish). I know, you all hate me.


	27. Broken

**A/N: **Hello my lovelies! Sorry this one took so long. I kind of... blanked out. I'm expecting to finish this soon, so only a few chapters left! In the mean time, there's this. So. Yeah. Here you go c:

* * *

'Sherlock? Sherlock, oh God...' I grabbed his wrist and felt for a pulse. Nothing. No beat. Nothing. Silence. 'Sherlock, please...' I whimpered against his hair. 'I can't do this by myself... Come back...' I pulled him to me and wrapped my arms around his limp torso. 'Sherlock, I need you.'

'Come off it, John. He's obviously dead.' Jim said loudly. He was alone, leaning against a stack of crates. Sebastian had gone off to get their car, leaving Jim all alone.

Rage swept through me. I looked around for a weapon. There was the knife that... No. I wasn't going to _touch _that thing. There was a small handgun taped to the underside of the chair beside me. It must have been there for what was deemed an "emergency". I knew enough about guns to recognise that the safety was off. I knew exactly where Moriarty was standing. I knew I would have one chance.

My anger fuelled me as I shot my arm out, pulled the gun from under the seat and fired it in the direction of where he was.

'Well. That was unexpected.' Jim said. A moment later, there was a thud. Jim was lying, slumped against the crate, a red stain spreading quickly across his pristine, white shirt.

'Oh God.' What had I done? I stood and looked around. There was no one in the warehouse but us, and no one outside. I quickly wiped the gun's handle on Moriarty's shirt – a clean corner – to at least partially destroy my DNA and sprinted outside.

A sleek silver car slid in front of me. _Someone had been there. _The window wound down slowly. 'John Watson, I presume?'

'Yeah?'

'My name is Greg Lestrade. I'm a friend of Mycroft's. He sent me to get you.' Greg leant over and opened the passenger side door. 'Don't worry about what just happened. It's being taken care of. Get in.'

I climbed in the car without a moment's hesitation, then it hit me and I broke down. 'Sherlock is dead.' My eyes were misty and overflowing almost instantaneously. 'Sherlock is dead...'

A packet of tissues appeared in front of me. 'Thanks.' I pulled one out and used it to wipe my eyes. 'Tell me I'm going home. Please.'

'You're going home. Which home that is, is up to you.' Greg replied, eyes straight ahead.

'What do you mean?' I asked.

'You can go _home _to your house, or Mycroft has offered for you to move in with him. He will take over your school fees, whatever you need.'

I thought it over. I didn't think I would be able to face the empty Holmes house. 'My home.'

Greg nodded. 'I'll be sure to get that back to Mycroft.'

* * *

Mycroft met me personally at the airport when I arrived back in London. He didn't seem to know how to comfort me, so I was given a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder. 'I was told you would like to go back to your own home?' he asked.

I nodded. 'Too much. He would be everywhere. I'm sorry.'

'You don't need to apologise, John. It isn't your fault. I'll drive you there now if you like. All your belongings have been packed already.'

'Okay.' I replied, following Mycroft through the airport.

We ended up at his car and I climbed in automatically. Mycroft didn't speak while we were driving. I wish he had. The silence allowed my mind to wander. How long had it been? I didn't even know. I was alone now. Completely alone. A void had begun to form in me and with every passing second, it grew larger. Nothing and no one could fill the gap Sherlock had left. Apart from Sherlock. But he was... Sherlock was... Gone.

* * *

I barely noticed when we stopped outside my house. Mycroft tapped me on the shoulder. 'John, we're here.' My hand moved to open the door, but he stopped me. 'I just have a few things to say to you first.'

'Yeah?' was all I could muster.

'Sherlock is being flown back some time soon, and I will be arranging his funeral. If you would like to attend, please do.'

I didn't know how he could be so unfeeling about what had just happened. He was perfectly calm, as if the death of his brother was something that happened often. There was just no emotion to his voice. I just nodded. 'Okay.'

'Also, John, please don't ever hesitate to call me should you need something. Your father for instance... Anything.'

'Thank you.'

'No matter. I'll walk you in.'

Mycroft's door clicked open, and I heard him carry a suitcase up the driveway. I followed him mechanically and knocked on my own door. It was opened by Harry.

'Oh John.' She ran out and pulled me into a tight hug. 'John, I am so sorry.' She stroked my hair and the composure I had barely kept hold of completely dissipated. I sobbed hopelessly into her shoulder while Mycroft carried my things to my bedroom. He touched my shoulder as he walked back to his car.

'Anything at all, John. I'll be in touch. Harriet.' He nodded to her.

She smiled in return and took me inside, up to my room. I collapsed onto my bed and curled into a ball, still sobbing. Harry tugged a blanket over me and patted my knee. 'I'll be downstairs. Call if you need anything.' She shut my door gently, leaving me alone with my thoughts in my dimly lit room.

* * *

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't do anything for weeks. All I did was lie in bed, alternating between sobbing and staring blankly around my room. My sheets didn't smell like Sherlock, and for some reason, I was glad. Although I would have given anything to change that. I felt dead inside. Sherlock seemed to be the only thing that had kept me alive, and I had taken to bringing out his letter to me and reading it at least ten times a day in order to remember what he said to me. I had to survive for us both now. Something told me it was going to be more difficult than I thought.

* * *

The day of Sherlock's funeral arrived and it took everything I had in me to keep my composure. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. Mycroft picked me up and nodded approvingly at my choice of clothing. A simple black suit I had bought, similar to that which I had worn to the school dance with Sherlock. 'Morning, John.'

'Morning, Mycroft.' I replied, stepping into his car.

We drove in silence to the church and I could already feel my carefully constructed facade beginning to crack. I took a deep breath and opened my door.

'John, one thing.' Mycroft coughed delicately. 'If you want to leave part-way through the service, I'll take you home. I wouldn't want you to stay longer than you could.'

'Thank you.' I smiled sadly, and only for a fraction of an instant before getting out and walking determinedly up the steps.

My feet became unsteady as I looked down the main aisle towards the flower covered mahogany casket at the other end. I clutched the side of a pew for support and felt someone grip my elbow.

'Easy, John.' Molly said soothingly. 'Come on.' She led me carefully towards the front of the church and stopped at the first row of seating. Molly guided me down, and then sat beside me, holding my hand. It was comforting to know she was there – one familiar face among the many strangers who had turned up. Mostly friends of Sherlock's parents from what I could gather. Mr Webster, the principal of Axton was there, as was Mrs Hudson, the day dorm keeper, and a few people from Sherlock's rehab centre had come as well.

When everyone was silent, and seated, someone began speaking. I can't be sure of who it was – my eyes were locked on the casket containing the body of the person I loved and everything else was just white noise. Tears started to fall from my eyes and I sat in complete silence. I was only a shell without the contents of that damned box.

Molly nudged me and I came back to myself. She nodded towards the dais. Must be time for me to say something.

I stood and climbed up. I looked out to the people seated – nearly the entire church was full – and realised that none of them would ever understand how I felt. I had no idea what to say. Except exactly what I was thinking.

'My name is John Watson.' I began shakily. 'Many of you I don't know, and I doubt you know me. I was Sherlock's boyfriend. Well... I guess I still am in a way. We were dating when he... passed.' I refused to say _"died"_ – it seemed too permanent. 'Sherlock, I believe, was the love of my life. I already miss him more than I think any of you can or ever will be able to comprehend. He was my best friend, and I loved him so much, which I don't think I told him often enough. He was the most intelligent person I have ever met, and though sometimes he was a right pain in my arse,' I saw Mycroft smirk. 'He was the best person and the most... caring.' I wiped my face and exhaled deeply. 'But what it comes down to is that Sherlock died in my arms. I held him as the life drained from his body, and I will never forgive myself for not being able to do anything to save him. He saved me numerous times, you know. He defended me from my own father and beat someone unconscious because they were hurting me. Now, he died protecting me, and I'll never get him back.' I sniffed and continued quietly. 'I would give anything to have him back. For a day, an hour, a _minute_ even... Nothing would be too big for me if I could get him back. Just to see him smile, or smell his cigarette smoke and apples, to hear his voice...' I sob interrupted me. 'The fact that I'll never get that back is enough to break me. It _has _broken me, and right now it is taking every single ounce of strength I possess not to give in. Sherlock told me in a letter that I had to survive, and it is the only reason that I can.' I stumbled off the dais and sat back down. Tears flowed relentlessly from my eyes, and I was handed tissue after tissue by Molly.

At the end of the service, Molly accompanied me and Mycroft to the burial. She kept hold of my hand as we placed white roses on the casket and continued the steady stream of tissues as it was lowered into the ground. I was thankful she was there. Without her, I would have been even more of a disaster. Then again, I had just witnessed the end of Sherlock Holmes.


	28. Trees

**A/N: **BONUS CHAPTER. This is just to tie things together I guess...

* * *

I left John in the capable hands of Mycroft to get him home again, and walked quickly to the side of the graveyard. My heels kept digging into the soft ground, causing me to stumble. I flicked my eyes around before pushing branches away and stepping under the canopy of a drooping pine tree. 'Could you not have picked a more easily accessible place?' I huffed. 'I _am _wearing heels.'

'Sorry, Molly.' A familiar voice replied with a chuckle. 'How is John?'

'How do you think? He thinks he just _buried _you, Sherlock.'

'I suppose that is true.' He mused, stepping into the dim light streaming through the branches.

'How long do you think you'll wait before announcing you've miraculously returned from the dead?'

'I... I'm not sure. Months at least.'

'Is that you saying you might not ever tell him?' I translated.

'I'm not sure. Thank you for helping him through this, Molly.' Sherlock looked sincere.

'Yeah, well. You know. A friend in need and all that.'

He chuckled. 'You know you can't tell John about me, yes?'

'I am unlikely to. No matter how much I want to. You want a clean break for now, but I can't promise anything further down the line.'

'I know.' He pulled something from his pocket – an envelope. 'Can you give him this?'

'And say what?'

'That I gave it to you in case something like this should happen. Before Easter. Please, Molly.'

I nodded slowly and slipped it in my bag. 'Okay. I have to go now, but I guess I'll be seeing you around.'

'Probably. Thank you, Molly Hooper.' He gave me a small, awkward hug. 'Look after him.'

'I will. Bye, Sherlock.' I replied, ducking out between branches.

* * *

**A/N: **So. That was from Molly's POV by the way. There's another chapter in the works, so that should be up soon c:


	29. The Letter

**A/N: **I know, I'm a horrible person. This chapter is only short, and there's only one after this. The Epilogue. Which I wrote about two months ago. So that's going to be up soon. In the meantime, have this c:

* * *

'John? Are you here?' a voice asked quietly from around the door.

'Mmph.' I mumbled into my pillow.

'I just came to give you this. It's probably the last thing you want, but... He asked me to give it to you.' She set something down on my desk. 'I'm always here if you need to talk.' There was a rustle of carpet and the door shut softly.

_He asked me to give it to you..._ He. Sherlock. Did I want it?

I dragged my head up and looked over to my desk. There was a letter on top of some folded clothes my Mother had brought in. I sighed and got up. The paper was thick and had _John Watson _written on it in the handwriting I could barely read.  
I stared at the envelope for a while before opening it warily. Even then, I struggled to make out what it even said.

_My dearest John,_

_If you're reading this, chances are I am dead – which is unfortunate but not wholly unexpected. I know I have already left you a letter, and you're probably sick of them, but email isn't the same. I have simply written this as a way to tell you a final few things. This letter is my confession to you._

_First, I never told you, but from almost the first instant I saw you... I loved you. I tried to stop, but obviously, it didn't work. I thought if I ignored you that those feelings would go away. It was difficult for me to know what to do because I could not comprehend the fact that I loved you. Me – Sherlock Holmes – loving someone. It never bothered me that I thought I would be alone forever. Alone was what I had – it protected me. Then you came into the picture and well... Look where we are now. You are, or were, my biggest weakness._

_Second, I know I have said this already, but now I'm gone – you need to move on. I know it will be difficult for you but you need to move on. You need to survive. I don't doubt that you will try to live in the past, but for my sake, and especially for your own – you cannot do this. Move on, let go, survive. _

_I have made my mistakes – so many things I am ashamed of – and let you down in more ways than one, but everything I did... Please forgive me._

_Finally, thank you. For everything. Thank you for putting up with me. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for saving my life. But now you have saved mine, I must return the favour. _

_Let me go, John. Move on, let go, survive. You will find someone who loves you. _

_Until the day I die, my heart is yours._

_SH_


	30. Epilogue

It's now nearly ten years since everything fell apart. Ten years. That's how long it's taken me to recover from everything that happened. When Sherlock died... When he _sacrificed _himself... It broke me. I didn't do anything for months. I nearly failed my final year at Axton, and it almost cost me getting into medical school. Now here I am. An already injured army doctor, barely able to survive. Ten years later, and only in the past few years have I stopped thinking about Sherlock constantly.

Honestly, I barely remember him. Only a few things still stand out for me – his scent of apples and cigarette smoke, the way his dark hair was always perfectly messy, the way he kissed me at the school's formal dance and didn't care who saw or what they thought – but most of all, the sound of his voice. The baritone that I could only compare to being wrapped in a blanket of comfort and the feeling of being home.

This morning, I was taking a walk through a park near my flat when I heard a voice call my name. 'John?' I turned to see a woman with neat brown hair looking curiously at me. 'John Watson?'

'Yeah? Who are you?' I asked.

'Molly Hooper.' She smiled, walking towards me. 'Axton.'

'Oh! Molly. Hi.' I remembered her. She was Sherlock's only friend before me. The girl who saved his life by going into the wrong bathroom. 'How are you?

'I'm good, how are you?' she asked, giving me a hug. 'Someone told me you went into the army?'

'Yeah, I did.' I nodded towards my cane. 'Invalided home a couple of months ago. Got shot.'

Her eyes widened in alarm. 'Oh my God, sorry.'

I shrugged. 'What can you do?'

'So are you living in London again?' she switched her cup of coffee to the other hand.

'Yeah, but I'll end up having to move. Can't really afford London anymore.' I replied sadly.

'Don't you have a flatmate?'

I laughed coldly. 'Who'd want to live with me - a bitter, invalided man? No one.'

Molly pursed her lips. 'I might have a solution, if you're open to it? I know someone else who needs a flatmate.'

'Sure, who is it?' I asked, following her as she started walking.

She didn't respond for a few moments. 'Old friend.' She finally responded.

* * *

Molly led me out the park and down a few streets, dumping her empty coffee cup in a bin on the way into a hospital – St Bart's. She led me through some corridors, grabbing another cup of coffee on the way, and ended at a pair of white doors. She stopped and appeared to be having an internal battle. Molly turned to me. 'Wait here, okay?' she went through the doors.

A few seconds later, she popped her head back out and said, 'Okay, come in.' before disappearing back inside.

I followed her through the doors and they swung closed behind me with a gentle _fwump_. I looked around the room. It was fairly bright and cluttered and I saw Molly's head bobbing down the aisle.

'I got you your coffee.' She said to someone. The other person didn't reply loud enough for me to hear. 'I also found you a flatmate.' Molly waved to me to come over. The other person came into my view just as an achingly familiar voice replied 'Oh really.'

He looked up and shook his hair from his eyes. 'Molly, what is this.'

'A flatmate.' She said.

I had continued walking, but stopped a few metres away. My breathing stopped and my brain froze. 'Oh God.' I breathed. The hair, the eyes, the mouth, the voice... The everything. Sherlock. 'No.'

'Molly, what have you done.' His eyes didn't leave my face as he spoke to her.

'You're dead.' I said, my voice breaking. 'I saw you die. You... you...' I took a few quaking steps towards him. 'YOU'RE _DEAD!' _ I roared.

'John, I-' Sherlock said, attempting to reason.

'_NO!_' I seethed. '_I WATCHED YOU DIE!'_

'I'm so sorry, John.' His voice was quiet. 'I am so, _so _sorry.' Sherlock took a few steps towards me.

'YOU _BASTARD!_' I flew at him and punched him square on the jaw. 'YOU LET ME THINK YOU WERE _DEAD _FOR _TEN BLOODY YEARS!_'

'I know.' He said, rubbing his face. 'I should have told you sooner. Please forgive me.' He pleaded.

'TEN YEARS, SHERLOCK!'

'John, do you know why I didn't tell you sooner?' He asked quietly.

'Please, indulge me.' I snapped.

'I thought you would have moved on. I told you to and was afraid you actually would have. I never left you. I thought you would have left me.' He said, almost inaudibly. 'I never stopped loving you for one second. I never _will _stop. My biggest regret is missing you in my life for so long.'

I flew at him again, this time though, I pulled his head towards me and crushed his mouth to mine. My fingers instantly entangled themselves in his hair, and I felt Sherlock's arms wrap around my waist. When I broke away, my breathing was ragged. 'You bloody idiot.' I shook my head in disbelief.

Sherlock chuckled – the sound was like coming home. I had missed that chuckle so much it caused me physical pain to hear it again. 'I know.'

'You have some serious explaining to do later.'

I tipped his forehead against mine. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

'If you _ever _do that again, I won't forgive you.' I warned. 'No matter _how_ much pleading you do.'

'Understood.'

* * *

A few months ago, the love of my life came back into my life. Despite the fact that he let me think he was dead for ten years, we've picked up from where we left off. We live in a flat together, 221B Baker Street. 221B was also coincidentally Sherlock's room at Axton, and now our landlady is our old day dorm keeper, Mrs Hudson.

This morning, Sherlock and I got a letter – some very good news. 'Sherlock, it's here!' I called excitedly.

He came down the hallway from our bedroom, yawning, and in nothing but the sheet off our bed. 'What does it say?' he asked, sitting on the couch.

I tore the letter open with shaking hands and read the contents eagerly. A grin spread across my face. 'We got approved.'

My grin was echoed on Sherlock's face. 'We got approved?'

'We got approved!' I cried happily. 'We can pick Hamish Watson-Holmes up in a few days.' I put the letter aside and wrapped my arms around Sherlock. 'We're officially parents.' I whispered in his ear.

He pulled me in for a kiss, the sheet falling down to uncover his chest. 'We're parents.'

* * *

**A/N: **Well. That's that I guess. The final chapter. Don't know what I'll do now it's finished. It's like my baby has just grown up and ditched me. Oh well. I should probably continue my other fanfics I guess, but it just won't be the same. I have a few thank yous though: Connie - thank you for being my lovely beta and encouraging me with this. And for your ever helpful hints ("Get John to punch Sherlock!") as well as your general insanity. Also, thank you to Louise who was my secondary beta when I needed more than one opinion. I may in fact make you both some cupcakes. Or cookies. Whichever I can be bothered with.

And I'd like to thank EVERYONE who read this and followed, favourited, reviewed this story and myself. I send you all internet hugs for your continued support.

So yeah. That's all for now. Thank you (again) for all your support c:


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